Sing Me Down Your Lullaby
by Luna Maria Boulevardes
Summary: IN REVISION ON HIATUS UNTIL 12/31/12 "She's safe now and it's all over. She can bend. Amon is dead. So why is she still so scared?" The One-Week War may have ended, but Korra still has battles to fight. Along with her friends and family, she struggles against a new enemy - her own mind. Eating disorders. Sequel/Companion to "Oh the City Lights". Bosami, Makorra.
1. Recover, Relapse, Repeat

_Sing Me Down Your Lullaby_

by Luna Maria Boulevardes

* * *

**Chapter 1: Recover, Relapse, Repeat.**

There is snow falling outside when she wakes up covered in cold sweat, the last vestiges of a nightmare reluctantly loosening their grip from her mind. She takes a deep breath, telling herself that she's safe now and it's all over. She can bend. Amon is dead. Mako is sleeping next to her, his breath warm against her hand. Her knuckles are sharp and bony, the skin stretched painfully taut. Red cracks mar the flesh where South Pole winter winds have chapped her hands. She plays with the edge of a blanket, trying figure out what she's going to do now. Standing on the edge of cliff wondering how cold the water might be is not an acceptable answer.

_Eat_, hisses a voice. She growls.

_No. We're done with that now_, she snaps back. It doesn't matter; the monster is still there, insistently clawing at her feet to get her to _move_. She presses her hands over her ears, curls her knees up to her chin. If she can just hold out until she falls asleep –

_Crack-BOOM_. She jumps when thunder roars and lightening shatters the sky. She hates storms; always has. She's pretty sure it's Aang's fault (_everything_ bad in her life is Aang's fault, she thinks darkly), leftover trauma from one-hundred years in an iceberg (is that why she was going to kill herself by drowning in icy water?).

Against her will her feet are burying themselves in slippers now and she's wrapping a sweater over her body, then padding to the kitchen without really thinking about any of it (because why would she want to do something like that that would make it all real?). Her body and her mind are divorced and she can only please one parent at any given time.

Her hands shake as she begins eating but she can't (won't?) stop. This is the frenzy, this is her mind slipping away so she can be in her body, so she can find where she ends and all Else begins, because she's really not too sure of that lately. She eats and eats and eats and thinks, _sorry everyone_. And then _well, I'm sure that they expected me to fail anyway._

The worst part is she can't even explain herself. It's like she's possessed, like this is the instinctual response now. As though it's seeped into her deepest marrows, tainting her blood stream and air supply. When this happen? When did she become this defeated creature, who would rather haunt shadows than lift a finger to save herself?

"_At a certain point, an eating disorder ceases to be "about" any one thing. It stops being about your family, or your culture. Very simply, it becomes an addiction not only emotionally but also chemically. And it becomes a crusade. If you are honest with yourself, you stop believing that anyone could "make" you do such a thing – who, your parents? They want you to starve to death? Not likely._

_Your environment? It couldn't care less. You are also doing it for yourself. It is a shortcut to something many women without an eating disorder have gotten: respect and power. It is a visual temper tantrum. You are making an ineffective statement about this and that, a grotesque, self-defeating mockery of cultural standards of beauty, societal misogyny. It is a blow to your parents, at whom you are pissed._

_And it is so very seductive. It is so reassuring, so all-consuming, so entertaining._

**_At first._**

* * *

"Hey, can I sleep with you?"

Bolin forces his eyes open, suppressing the instinct to start complaining. Mako always wants him up at the ass-crack of dawn, something to do with getting things done and saving money on electricity costs. Stupid firebenders with their stupid sun rises.

It takes him a moment to realize that the person talking to him is not, in fact, Mako.

Eyes open now. Asami is standing over him. Her yellow eyes are red and puffy, and tears hang on her dark eyelashes. She blinks and one falls, hitting the floor. It makes him wince; all he can hear is the echo of Korra hissing _I bet Asami looks pretty even when she's crying_. It was kind of his fault. He had ruffled her hair only to have it fall out in dry, brittle clumps. At first, neither moved, too shocked. Korra made a strangled sound and before she could move her grabbed around the waist, forcing her to _stay put_ because Spirits knew he would never forgive himself if she went off puking or starving or whatever it was she did because he did something idiotic.

She fought of course, and she fought badly. Her body was weak as a butterfly wing. Maybe she would have gotten away if she used her bending – he knows she thought about it. He sat on her to stop her from moving and she snorted fire so her tears dissipated into steam. _I bet Asami looks pretty even when she's crying. _It wasn't really her words that shook him, but rather the crazed look in her eyes and metallic scent on her breath. Her knuckles were bloody and so were her teeth, like she was going to eat herself just to get to those bones she wanted so badly. It was like she had locked herself in a glass box and slashed her wrists. She dangled between life and death, dancing and spinning on a tightrope like _it's no big deal_. She's the Avatar and you have to deal with it.

She's the Avatar and _she_ has to deal with it.

And she chooses to deal with it by screaming _it's my body/mine/oh yes mine to destroy/stop me if you can._

He has to take a deep breath to remind himself that that's not was going on right now. Right now he has pretty-when-crying Asami waiting for him to say something, her body quivering with some too-much emotion. It reminds him of trying to swallow when you've taken a too-big bite of food.

"Hey. What's up?" He sits up and moves over so she can crawl in with him. She does so but stays on the other side of the bed, making sure they won't touch. Even so he can smell her jasmine body lotion and he wants to press his nose to her skin so he can smell the her underneath it. Bolin feels kind of guilty thinking this (_But I am a teenage boy_, he tells himself).

There is purple light streaming through the windows, not-quite-night-but-not-quite-dawn. This is the first time he's seen her so undone, as though she had come to him with palms upraised and said _here are my inner arms, that most sensitive part where the skin and the flesh are separated by translucent gossamer veil. This I offer to you, this I show you so that you might hold me, so that you might trace the blood of my veins and arteries until the path is well-charted. Then, perhaps, we might learn my heart. _She is vulnerable right now, vulnerable like she never was with Mako. He doesn't know if it's because she trusts him or if she's just grown too weary to protect herself anymore.

Asami's face is bare, no trace of her usual mask-perfect makeup. Her hair is woven in a messy braid flopped over one shoulder, and she is wearing a simple pink nightgown and white robe. He likes her like this. Not the crying part; he doesn't want to see Asami upset. But he likes her in this natural state, all her outside-selves tucked away for the night.

"You saved my life back there, you know," Asami says, not looking at him but staring at the wall on the other side of the room. Unsurprisingly, snow is falling outside. That's what you get when you're in the South Pole in December. He sees her eyes and flicker and wishes he knew what she was thinking about.

"Well, I guess, although I don't know that your life was really in danger. You would have done the same for me, I'm sure." He has absolutely no idea where she's going with this. Maybe he should wake Pema or Katara, they're the ones who know how to do this emotional stuff. Actually, that's not true, Mako can when the situation calls for it. He's Mr. Serious. Bolin knows his brother seems like a cold-hearted jerk, but that's only when he's around people he doesn't know or care about. He rises to the occasion for his loved ones every time.

Bolin doesn't do any of these things; he doesn't even _ask _Asami where she's going with this.

Bolin has this secret theory about Mako, himself, and girls. Most people would say that Mako's lack of relationships is due to his stick-up-his-ass-ness. This is not entirely inaccurate. But the other thing is that Mako likes to know things. He likes to plan, to calculate and think. It's why he and Korra work so well; Korra is not exactly known for her emotional suppression. Or, well, she does suppress her emotions, but she's so bad at it that it really doesn't count. Korra's laughably readable to most people; against Mako, it's not even worth the effort.

Bolin, on the other hand, is more patient, or at least more willing to sit with ambiguity. Maybe it's the way they grew up. Maybe it's their family roles that made Mako worry about everything and Bolin believe it would always be okay. However it happened, he knows that Mako wouldn't be able to _stand_Asami's silence. Bolin can. It's the same as with animals; if you want to catch a fire ferret, you must wait for the ferret to come to you. You won't get anywhere chasing.

"Of course I would have saved you if you were in danger." Asami smiles at him, though her lips quiver. "But you shouldn't have had to rescue me. He's my father, you know? I just can't believe – he was my daddy. When I was little, there were a bunch of kids at school who made fun of me for being the Sato heiress. They told me I was spoiled and prissy and no one would want to be friends with me expect for my money. One kid – I remember . . ." she falters. Asami stares at the ceiling to stop her tears then swallows hard and continues. "I remember one boy said "Your own mother didn't want to be around you. She didn't need your money and she left. That's proof there, Asami." I shoved him and he gave me a black eye."

"Damn," Bolin breathes. She flushes with embarrassment and starts playing with her robe tie. He reaches out and gives her upper arm a gentle squeeze. She looks up, surprised, but smiles gratefully. She puts her hand over his, squeezing back. He lets go as she begins to speak again and his hand feels strangely empty without her warmth.

"Obviously, my dad didn't miss that. He was furious when he found out. I don't know what he said to the school and the kid's parents, but I remember the terror on their faces when I came to class the next day. My father immediately enrolled me in self-defense classes, vowing that he would do everything in his power to make sure I was never, ever hurt. How could he attack me, Bolin? I just – I don't understand." Here are the real tears. The "Korra-tears". All he can think is _aw Korra, you wouldn't being thinking about whether she was pretty if you could see her now. _She's crying hard and burying her face in her arms, clearly humiliated to be seen like this. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be bothering you like this."

"It's no trouble. We're Team Avatar, we stick together. A team is only as strong as it's weakest link, so we've got to give each other strength. That's why Korra has to use her Avatar-ness to get us free food. Mako and I are growing lads requiring sustenance to complete in pro-bending. If Korra wants to win feeding us is in her best interest, see?" he teases. Asami chokes a laugh and finally looks at him.

"So comforting me is really all about you, huh?" she teases back. He nods playfully.

"Exactly. All about your money." Maybe that was too soon. Her face crumbles and he can see insecurity blossom in her eyes. "Asami, I'm kidding. If I was only interested in your money I wouldn't bother talking you right now, I'd just roll over and let you sleep and, I don't know, try to get you have sex with me."

He winces a bit at the sex part but it's worth the embarrassment because she looks like she might actually believe that he's really her friend. At the very least she's entertaining the idea. "Also would have mentioned something when we were eating street gruel. Could have used something a little tastier then," he muses. Yes, she's definitely coming around now, the tension is leaving her shoulders. "Though I'll admit "Master Bolin" had a nice ring to it."

Asami swats him but he doesn't mind because he's just so glad she's not crying anymore. Given her situation, the strength she's displayed is almost inconceivable. He tries to imagine himself in her place, maybe if it was Mako instead of his father who he doesn't remember very well. Something heavy lands in his stomach at the thought and it feels the same as when someone hits him in the ring. Knocks the breath right out of you. "Look though, you want to sleep a little? You can stay, I'm just tired," he says sheepishly. He rubs the back of his neck.

"That would be okay." She lies down next to him, attentive to her movement so they will continue to Not Touch. After a few minutes they're both settled, staring at each other as the early morning sun casts patterns over Asami's hair.

"Good night. Or good morning," Bolin says. Asami closes her eyes, falling asleep quickly (he wonders how long she cried alone before coming to find him). He takes longer, watching her for a while before exhaustion wins out.

Later, Tenzin will glimpse their figures through the half-open door. Upon returning to his own room, he'll to turn Pema and ask her what's going on with these people and beds. Nothing is ever up to standard! They're always in _each others' _beds, like there's only a couple of decent mattresses in any given institution. Pema will roll her eyes, inform him that teenagers have many motivations for sharing beds and the dislike of a certain mattress is _not _high on that list. It will takes a moment, but her words will make sense and he'll bluster gruffly while his wife laughs.

* * *

Mako knows something isn't right when he wakes up alone. He swears under his breath, grabbing a jacket and his boots so he can go figure out what's going on. Bolin would tease him if he were here, chanting _Mama Hen Mako_ over and over until Mako threatened to burn his mouth shut. Even so he almost wishes Bolin was with him right now; maybe he would feel less anxious about what kind of trouble Korra's getting up to. And he knows it's trouble, because Korra "mornings-are-evil" of the Water Tribe would never get up at this hour without due cause.

Mako likes the Water Tribe buildings. They're very solid, made of hard-packed mud and stone. They keep out the frosty winds and he feels very safe here, like they're completely isolated from the world and therefore bad things can't get to them. There is no Amon, no rent due, no pressures. He briefly entertains the idea of staying, but dismisses it just as quickly. He loves Korra, but he just can't get on board with Water Tribe food. She tried to kiss him after dinner last night and laughed when he demanded she brush her teeth because he couldn't stand the lingering taste of sea prunes and fried squid.

Memory's glow fades when he gets to the kitchen. Someone has been here and they have been eating. It's not too messy, but Mako has learned to pick up on the subtleties. The sink is empty but still shiny with water. There is fresh soap lingering around the top of the bottle. There are crumbs on the floor and plates stacked on a counter, as though whoever was here was in a great hurry to get in and get out. Immediately, he starts running to the nearest bathroom.

_Not again._

"This is Mako – I'm coming in," he announces as he enters the women's baths and toilets. Korra has a private bathroom attached to her (their?) room, but of course she wouldn't go back there with Mako still in their (her?) bed. He remembers from the moment they went in last night that it felt eerie and haunted, like it was hers-but-not-hers. It's filled with all her childhood belongings; stuffed animals account for the overwhelming majority. When he saw them he couldn't help but think of how lonely it must have been to be trapped in the White Lotus compound -

* * *

- "I would have thought you would've decorated every wall," Mako comments the night before upon entering the room. The grey walls are bare, the bed neatly dressed with blue sheets and blankets. There's a pile of furs at the foot for nights when it's _really_ cold. Opposite the bed is a fireplace, contained by a screen made of curling iron and glass. There's a wardrobe, a trunk, and a bench piled with her stuffed animals. He smiles and goes to the bench, picking up an orange cat. Korra squirms.

"Yeah, well, it was what it was."

The floors are made of bamboo but covered with woven rugs. There are blackout curtains over the windows, a small desk with a neat collection of scrolls and pens. There's a door opposite the one to the hallway, probably her bathroom. He sits on the bed and notes the goose-feather pillows, the soft cotton material. Korra looks ready to tears off her skin.

"Um, are you okay?"

"Fine!" she snaps. He rolls his eyes. "I just don't like it here, that's all," she mutters.

Flashback – they're in Republic City, she tells him _Naga is my best friend_. And he says _your best friend is a polar bear-dog. Somehow that makes perfect sense_. It strikes him how sad that conversation is. Sad for Korra that yes, Naga was her only friend while she lived here (in this _prison_).

Sad that he didn't think about that, didn't think about how lonely things must have been for her that things would come to that. He thought Korra was loud and obnoxious and impulsive when he first met her. Actually he still thinks those things, but now it's tempered by the knowledge that she spent most of her life locked up. Korra has no social skills because when had she ever needed them?

Flashback: Korra says _I've always been taken care of_. They're in the gym at the pro-bending arena, he's scowling because her fighting is no where near what it needs to be. He doesn't think about what it must feel like to be told you're a Master Waterbender and then have your ass handed to you by a bunch of jocks. He doesn't think about the fact that when people are taking care of you, you end up owing them something. Free things are nice if they're truly free; Korra's free things came with price tags written in foreign languages.

Flashback: Korra missing practices to join Tarrlok's task fore. Korra's sad, frightened face when the reporters ambush her at the party. Her hands shake.

Flashback: Waiting outside the pro-bending arena, so angry he's afraid he'll accidently blow something up (man, firebending can be a bitch sometimes). He accuses her of using Bolin. Something red flashes over her face; at the time, he thinks it's anger, or maybe embarrassment that she's been caught. Later, after Bolin tells him Korra described herself as _not very date-worthy_, he realizes the red color was _pain_.

He remembers telling Korra _consider our friendship over_ when she (correctly) suspects Hiroshi. He now wonders if any words could have been crueler. He remembers the look on her face, the one hissing _I don't need you. __**I don't need anyone**_. The disease has its claws into her by then, he'll know because he'll see the glossy black fur growing on her arms. He'll learn that that only happens to the starving, those whose bodies are shutting down – they need fur because there's no more fat to keep them warm.

The next day there's Korra sitting on a cliff, pretending she hasn't been crying and then whispering _I just feel so – alone_. The wind whips and she shivers, her collarbones thrusting forward like they want to escape her skin. He'll think of it again when they finally find her and he picks up off Naga's back. She feels like she might crumble in his arms.

He thinks he can see, then, why Korra doesn't like the White Lotus Compound.

"Can we just go to bed now? I'm really tired," she sighs. He knows that's not what's really going on, but he doesn't say anything, just crosses the room to playfully tug her hair out of its ponytails.

"Yeah, you need the rest – I shouldn't be keeping you up," he murmurs. She scoffs but she's smiling. He wishes he could tear open her chest and put his hand on her beating heart so he could read her and feel her in all the ways she won't let him; he wants to know all her unthinkable thoughts.

* * *

_**Flash**_**NOW**, it is hours later and Mako squints against the light flowing in through the baths' frosted glass windows. He finds the door to the toilet area and goes through, heart pounding so sharply he thinks he's going to break a rib. It doesn't take any time to find Korra; he recognizes the retching sound.

"_Ugh_."

He takes this as a good sign. If she can still moan, she's not dead. Mako bangs his fist on the door and Korra yelps. For a moment he's in Republic City and Amon is leaning over her (_he is the Nightmare King)_. It's over just as quickly and he breathes hard, reminding himself that he isn't there anymore, that he is safe and Korra is safe and everyone else is safe. They opened the closet door, they moved the bed and killed the monsters who were living in those places.

"Let me in." There is a pause but he knows she doesn't really consider keeping him out if for no other reason than he'll just burn the door down if she tries. The door swings out at him and she is there on her knees. It's such a debauched position, so submissive. It makes him think of the prostitutes he's seen in the city. He remembers pimps who growl _bitch on your knees_. They yank the girls' heads back by their hair, shove their cocks so far down their throats they cry and gag.

Their eyes say _no _but with plugged mouths the words never get to the surface, so later the men will say _she loves it, _tossing the girl back like she's garbage (her head will hit the floor with a twisted _thud_). _Like she's not even human_. Mako will never forget the ones he saw who had thick white seed dripping like blood down their faces, their mouths open in silent screams.

To see Korra like this – it is to see her completely undone, it is to see her degraded and abused. She is so small, so fragile. She is her bones, hard outsides to protect what is inside, what is soft and squishy and so ready to give under the slightest feather-touch. He sits down next to her, resting a hand on her back.

It strikes Mako again that however many times this happens, he'll never get used to it, he'll be just as shocked and sickened every time. He's again marveled by her ability to get vomit _everywhere_. It's on her clothes and her face and her fingers and even in her hair. They look at each other for a minute then her face goes ashen and she throws up again.

Bright green seaweed graces the bowl and a look of relief passes over her face. Yeah, that definitely means something to her. He traces circles over her shirt's thin material while she rests her head against the toilet's cool porcelain, looking exhausted.

"Hi, Mako," she says in a little-girl voice. He takes her clean hand in his, kissing her fingertips. Tears well up in her bloodshot eyes.

"What does the seaweed mean?" he asks.

Panic. She doesn't want to tell him and that makes it all the more important for him to know. "_Korra_," he coaxes. It's hard not to scream at her when he's so mad and worried.

"It's, um, how I know it's all gone," she mutters awkwardly. She tries to jerk her hand away and he doesn't let her.

"_You will lift the toilet seat, carefully slide your fingers inside your mouth and down your throat, and puke until you see orange. The Doritos. You ate them first because you, like most bulimics, have developed a system of "markers," eating brightly colored foods first so you can tell when it's all out"._

"Okay." He exhales slowly. Standing up, he flushes the toilet several times until everything disappears. Korra can't look at him from shame. Her head stays down as she follows him to the sinks and her footsteps are unsteady, like there's no blood in her legs. "Sit," he orders. She hops up on the vanity. Mako fills a bowl with water and firebends it warm. He offers Korra a glass and she rinses her mouth out, grimacing as she does.

"Throat hurts," she mutters to his look. Did she scrape it? Is it bad? Is she bleeding? His mind seethes with questions.

"Maybe Katara can – "

"We are _not_, under any circumstances, discussing any of this with Katara," Korra hisses. His jaw tenses. Doesn't she realize he just wants to help her – oh, she does apparently, her face is softening right in front of his eyes. "We can talk about it later," she concedes. Good enough. He lathers a washcloth with mild soap but when he looks her over he thinks that it really isn't going to make the cut.

"Give me your clothes and go take a shower. You have, um, stuff in your hair." They avoid saying what it really is (_vomit_) because it's better that way. If they were to speak the words aloud – well, that would mean that this was real and they can't have that, not at all.

"Okay." She doesn't move.

"What?"

"Um, I just – you're here. And I don't really have anything, exactly – I mean, I was just wearing this, you understand?" She's biting her lip. Mako is busy having a flashback to when he broke the news about him and Korra to Bolin.

"Have fun with celibacy, bro," Bolin laughed, throwing his head back as his whole body shook. Mako failed to see the humor or even the logic in this statement.

"What are you _talking_ about?"

"Neither you or Korra can _say_ the word sex, let alone have it. This is rich. Really, have fun," he snickered. Mako sputtered some kind of response but now he's thinking _damn you Bolin_ because yeah, he's kind of right. Maybe he should go practice saying _sex _and other such terms in front of a skunk-toad. In a volcano. On Ember Island. Where Bolin will never, ever find him. Ever.

Unfortunately in the mean time, he still has a distressed Korra to attend to. Fantastic.

"Ah – what do you want me to do? I don't want to make you uncomfortable because I don't want you to do anything you don't want, really," he babbles. She contemplates this for a minute then begins unbuttoning her pajama shirt. He pointedly looks away.

"Mako . . ." She can't find the words to make sense of the thoughts in her head. She wants to say _I'm so ugly don't look you'll hate me _and at the same time she thinks _please look at me and think I'm beautiful because it will just kill me if you don't. _"Would you . . . I mean, can you . . ." She frowns, wanting to clutch her head and shake it until everything falls out so Mako will be able to see what she's thinking and spare her the troubling of talking. This is something she ought to bring up with Asami; if Future Industries could work on developing a superior alternative to the current hopelessly inadequate mind-to-mouth expression system.

"What?" Mako asks, still looking away. There are pink streaks dusting his cheekbones and she wants to touch them.

"Look at me - if you want, that is," she whispers. He almost doesn't hear her she's speaking so softly and in some ways that's kind of the point. She's afraid to be seen and afraid to be ignored. She trembles waiting for his reaction.

"Oh. Uh, yeah, sorry. I thought you didn't want me to do that. Look at you." When Mako is nervous, he usually stares at his feet. This coping mechanism is _not_ serving him well right now. So he bites the inside of his cheek and forces his head up because he knows important to her (and he also knows she'll never say so much). If Korra asked him to find a way to put the sun in the night sky, he would do it. That's what Mako does for the people he loves.

The buttons are all undone now and the shirt hangs loosely on her bony shoulders. Her breasts are still covered but he can see the skin between them so there is a path from her neck down to her sternum, flowing right over her belly button. Below there is a trail of fine dark hair and he can hardly think about what follows after _that_. He blinks and hesitantly reaches for the material.

"You want help?" He feels awkward and wonders if she does too. He's not suave like Bolin. He's nervous and twitchy and he wants so badly to give her the world. He's cautious because he just really doesn't want to mess anything up, get screwed over by his own idiocy.

"Okay." She swallows and he carefully pulls off the sleeves, avoiding the messy parts. She crosses her arms over her breasts so he can't see the nipples but he can still see the top halves, the cleft between. The skin is the color of creamy toffee and he has an urge to lick it. He distracts himself by putting her shirt in the sink. Not the time to be fantasizing.

"Your pants – um, those need to be washed to?" His voice squeaks at the end. That's embarrassing. He had been rather happy to leave puberty and voice-cracking behind.

"Oh. I guess." She slides the pants off and he's grateful to discover that she's wearing navy underwear, a pair of shorts trimmed with light blue lace. She steps out of the pants and he takes them gracelessly. She trains her gaze to the floor, not moving. "I'm sure this is very anti-climatic for you," she laughs. He stares at her.

"I think you're beautiful. I always do," he replies. She dares to look at him. "Really. Can I – is it okay for me to touch you?" He's really going to have to revisit this idea that he was done with puberty. He doesn't know how to talk to her and he's so terrified of messing this up and he had really thought that that wouldn't be such a thing by this time in his life.

"Um, okay," she mutters, trying to hide her anxiety. He takes a step closer. She wants to ask him if she's good enough, if she deserves good things in her life. She wants to say _I failed against Amon_ and ask him how he can want her considering that. She keeps these words to herself though because to ask would be to show weakness, and being weak is (perhaps ironically at this point) her biggest fear.

"Tell me to stop or firebend me or something if I start to do anything you don't like," he says. She smiles and he feels more accomplished that he did winning his first pro-bending match. He would do anything to make her look at him like that again.

"I think I can manage that," she says. He puts a hand on the back of her neck, rubbing the tense muscles until she shuts her eyes and lets her head fall into his hold. He puts the other hand on her shoulder and tries very hard not to react to how sharp her bones are against his flesh. She'll take that as a rejection and think she has to lose more weight when really it's _this_ body (this too-skinny body) that scares him. She really shouldn't be this thin; clearly he should have been watching her more carefully.

Mako leans in and kisses her lips, pulling away even as she kisses back. He kisses her face all over, blessing her temples and her eyes and her jaw. He kisses her neck, her collarbones then her lips again because he sees no reason to go _far-ther_ right now. She moans softly, her face twisting with desire as she arches into his touches. She can tell that he's using his firebending to give her an extra kick of warmth. She opens her eyes sleepily when he finally pulls away.

"Better?" he asks. She can hear his attempts to hide his anxiety then watches it dissipate at her nod. "Good. Go take a shower, I'll take care of your clothes." She turns to do so then stops.

"Mako?"

He looks up at the sound of his name. "Thanks for that. It was really – it was nice. I'm sorry I'm putting you through this, but I'm really glad you're here. With me." She ducks behind the curtain and a few minutes later he hears water begin to run.

His mind wanders as he scrubs her clothes. He has a few flashbacks to when he and Bolin were kids and they were first living on their own. His brother had nightmares about their parents' deaths and starting wetting the bed again. He was humiliated, hiding it for weeks. It probably would have gone on longer had he not woken up one night to get something to eat only to find Bolin in the kitchen scrubbing furiously.

After that Mako made it his responsibility to take care of that. He remembers moonlight streaming through the window as he washed his brother's clothes and sheets, singing lullabies or telling stories to distract him, help him sleep. He remembers firebending the sheets and clothes dry, and he remembers the way Bolin's whole face lit up watching the trick. Made him feel like maybe he wasn't a complete failure at the whole care-taking thing, like maybe he could give Bolin a good-enough life.

The memory fades and he's then forced to think about what he's going to do about his and Korra's current predicament. She was doing so well before; this might just be a small slip up. These things happen. The problem is that it could also be a full-blown relapse and he doesn't want to give that a chance to play itself out.

Pema and Tenzin will be furious either way. If says nothing, they'll be mad at both him for keeping the secret and Korra for indulging in self-destructive behavior. If he says something – they'll be mad at Korra for indulging in self-destructive behavior and Korra will be at him for ratting her out. Yay.

He imagines Tenzin would probably tell her to meditate to address her anxiety problems. Mako doesn't really think that's what's going on here. It's part of it, but Korra has low self-esteem and meditating isn't going to fix that.

Are the people at the Fire Nation Center for Mental Health currently accepting new patients? They treat Princess Azula, so they can treat anyone, right?

The door opens and he swears. He hopes it's one of the airbabies (Korra got him calling them that, no one else would be able to make him use such a silly term). It's not, however, because that would be too convenient. Instead it's Lin Beifong and Mako finds himself really, really wishing he were an earthbender so he could ask the ground to swallow him up. She's wearing a black robe and staring at him, first in shock and then in anger. She crosses her arms and narrows her eyes, going into full police chief mode. Everything about her says _Explain. Now. Or I will kill you._

He does not doubt that.

"Good morning Chief Bei – I mean Lin – I mean, hi." Smooth.

"Perhaps you can explain to me what it is exactly that you're doing in here." Lin presses her lips together so tightly they turn white.

"Helping Korra with something." This is not the right thing to say. Lin only looks angrier.

"I see. Shall I fetch her some silphium?"

Okay, even Mako's not so sexually naïve he doesn't know what _silphium_ is. He makes a wet choking sound, stunned that Lin thinks they're having sex. Is there something wrong with him and Korra that they're not? Or maybe everyone thought they'd Do It because Korra got her bending back, that they would too excited to wait like normal people? Spirits, they don't know either of them at all if they're thinking that. As he tries to process all this Lin's eyes flash with amusement and he thinks that only for Korra would he endure _Lin Beifong_.

"I don't really think that's strictly necessary – "

"Don't be stupid, boy. _Coitus interuptus _is not considered effective," she counters. At this point Korra finally peeks her head out to see what's going on.

"Mako? Lin?" she asks, her hair dripping onto the tile floor. "Is everything all right?"

"I was just asking Mako if you needed anything," Lin replies. Korra turns grey. The curtain ripples and Mako knows she must be trembling. He hates Lin for doing that to her. Damn it, why can't she see that Korra's in no place to be screwed around with? Korra shakes her head woodenly, eyes wide with fear as she processes Lin's question.

"I'm fine, just little sick, I'm done throwing up now, nothing is wrong!" she yelps. Mako groans. That was probably the least helpful thing she could have said. Korra ducks back into the shower, shutting them out.

Lin starts to say something but Mako slaps a hand over her mouth. He contemplates that he must have a hidden desire to be castrated; why else would he do something so insane? He uses he free hand to pull Lin into the hall, moving fast so he won't lose his nerve. She's still too stunned to react and he's hoping that maybe she'll let him keep his man-bits after all.

"Would you care to enlighten me as to what, exactly, it is you're doing?" Lin hisses, yanking away from him. His shoulders slump and even though he's not a religious guy, he says a quick prayer that Lin will understand and Korra will forgive him for what he's about to do.

"Korra has a problem, of sorts," Mako says. Lin waits. This must be how she got people to confess; that stare is terrifying. Mako starts to look at his feet then stops himself. He is not going to act like this where Korra's involved. "Her relationship with food is, well – "

"Zealous?" Lin sneers. He's too insulted to speak and she continues over his silence. "I've seen her eat. Spirits only know where she puts it all. I don't understand what this has to do with anything, however." Her lofty attitude is really starting to bother him.

"She puts it in the toilet," he growls. Ah, finally; Lin now loses her Queen Bitch face. He feels a jolt of petty victory. "She makes herself throw up," he clarifies nastily. Lin seems unable to conceptualize this. Her eyebrows are pinched together and she looks lost and frightened, like she was standing on glass and now it's broken beneath her.

He's rendered Lin Beifong speechless. Does he get an award? Bolin would make a joke about that if he was here, but it wouldn't be funny. Nothing about this is funny. "She sticks her fingers down her throat and pukes it all up. When she's eating at all, that is. Sometimes she just doesn't. Eat." He hunches his shoulders, looking back at the baths.

"So this morning . . . ?"

"I woke up and she wasn't in our – her – ugh, _the_ room, so I knew something was wrong. She would have woken me otherwise. I went to the kitchens and I knew immediately that she had been through. Predictably, I found her in the baths throwing up. I was too late to stop her. As usual, she was a mess. So I volunteered to help her clean up. I wanted to keep an eye on her anyway, to be honest. She says her throat hurts but she doesn't want to see Katara," he confesses.

Lin sits down, blinking like a busted Satomobile. He feels the impulse to apologize, but there really isn't anything to say. "I need to go back and see to her. Could you just stay outside for a few minutes? It would make things a lot easier for us." He doesn't wait for a reply. He's done talking to Lin, he has other things to be doing right now.

* * *

Lin is in shock. She's still like someone froze her blood, her thoughts racing in a yes/no/it is/it can't be loop. She's so caught up in this news she doesn't even notice Tenzin's approach until he's waving a hand in front of her face. Scowling she knocks it away, eyes narrowing into a glare. He sighs in that long-suffering way of his.

"Good morning, Lin. You look a little – unsettled. Is there something wrong?" he asks. "I thought I heard you talking with someone."

She's a little surprised he doesn't recognize Mako's voice, but keeps this thought to herself.

"Did you know that Korra makes herself throw up?" she snarls. Tenzin gaps and he face shatters like a smashed mirror.

"_No_," he whispers. He's not answering her question, he's talking to himself, trying to deny that this is happening again, that Lin could know, that his little girl is in trouble (because Korra is his third daughter, she's more than a pupil).

The words are tainting the air. Lin's shoulders drop and she's no longer an officer or vigilante, she's just a woman who's worried about someone she cares for. "How long has this been going on? Who knows about it? Is she getting any help?" she asks. Lin isn't the type to sit and wait when there's a crisis; she's like Korra, she'll rush in with raised arms and clenched teeth, mind burning. Punch first, ask questions later.

"It started I guess in the fall, when she had that face off with Amon – that really messed her up. She looked so young when I found her, so vulnerable," Tenzin says, his grey eyes clouded as he goes to some distant place. "She was struggling with her airbending, though I guess I didn't know how badly it was affecting her. I should have, though. I should have been worried when she started calling herself a failure." Cold sweat leaks down his neck at the memory. Guilt chews and claws his viscera, hissing _**you**__ are the failure, __**you**__failed__**her**_.

"That still doesn't explain why she would do something like_ this_ in response." Lin is distressed. She's confused and he thinks he can even hear fear in her voice. It makes him want to hold her like he did so many times years ago. She is again the girl of their childhoods, the girl he first loved.

"Korra wanted – she wanted to be light, she said. Because airbending is about being light on your feet, so she turned that into a physical reduction of the self. Like it was her flesh that weighed her down, and if she could be lighter she'd be able to airbend. I don't fully understand it myself, I just know what she told me. It went on three months, maybe? Four? I don't know. At first she just starved herself, but Pema and I put a stop to that as soon as we figured it out. That's when she started throwing up, apparently. It seemed like she'd been better these past couple weeks, though." He is desperate to believe his own words.

"Where are her parents in all this?" Lin throws her arms in the air. "This isn't like with Zuko – "

"Wait – what about Zuko?"

She looks embarrassed.

"I know from my mother that Zuko had – unique coping skills, shall we say," she mumbled, fidgeting. He waits and she continues, unable to tolerate the silence. "He cut himself. Started when he was young, he was all on his own. He didn't have anyone looking out for him. But Korra – we care about her." Lin blushes at this admission.

"I don't think her parents know. I think she's too ashamed to tell them, and moreover she doesn't want them to worry. I suppose maybe someone else could say something – but that's not really our place. Besides, she lives with Pema and I most of the time, and you can be sure we make her eat." His expression is cool for a minute, confident; then she looks at him and it falls.

"Damn it, Lin, I don't know how you fix this, I don't even understand it!" Heat floods his body and he's suddenly aware that he's frustrated and even_angry_ that Korra's doing this. It just doesn't make any sense. It's nothing but a draw-out, painful suicide. Her throat could tear open so she bled to death in some bathroom like a common alcoholic.

"Mako is taking care of her right now," Lin reassures him. "We'll figure it out. This isn't your fault, Tenzin," she says. He shakes his head sadly.

"It's entirely my fault. She said _I have to be light, I have to __**be**__ the leaf, I have to be light as the leaf._ I'm the one who told her that. I'm the one who said that about airbending. I put the idea in her head." There is such misery in his eyes, such pain wracking his body. Her arms move of their own accord and she hugs him.

"I'm so sorry, my old friend. I disagree with you about this – I don't think it's your fault, and you know I would tell you if I did," she laughs (it is a small sound but it reverberates in him and gives the world new light). "I do believe this can be solved. We'll talk to your mother. She might have some ideas."

Mom. Yes, why didn't he think of that?

"Thank you, old friend." They smile at each other, silently saying _if I must be here I'm glad at least you're here with me_.

* * *

Korra's getting out of the shower when Mako goes back in, wrapped herself in a big fluffy white towel. He comes up behind her, enfolding her waist in his arms and burying his nose in her hair. She laughs, tentatively leaning back against him.

"Hi," she whispers. He sends a burst of heat through the towel and she sighs happily. "That's nice. I knew there was a reason I liked you."

"I live to serve." Those bones are her vertebrae, aren't they? Is it natural for them to thrust like that? She could take someone's eye with one. Very possibly his.

"What did you say to Lin anyway?"

Damn, he had been hoping to have this conversation until – well, forever really, but at least longer than two minutes after it happened. "You told her everything, didn't you?"

"Huh?"

"You're not a very good liar, Mako. I seem to remember a certain confrontation right before the Tournament which proved so much." She giggles and he huffs against her neck. "We worked it out," she says sweetly. "Everything was fine once you realized I was right about you, just like I'm always right about everything." She turns around and taps his nose with a finger. He snorts and pulls her back into place, her back against his chest.

"Are you mad at me? Because she thought you were pregnant."

"_What?_" Korra whirls around to face him and he only narrowly avoids getting whipped by her hair. "I cannot believe – oh, I will show her just how _not-pregnant _I am!" Korra starts marching towards the door and Mako sprints ahead to block her path.

"How about you just go get dressed and we don't get in a battle before noon?" he pleads. He sees her deliberate, but then she bows her head. "I don't think a towel is going to be very conducive to fighting anyway," he points out. She looks up and they both laugh imaging her trying to fight Lin and retain her modesty. Mako's right, it wouldn't work out very well.

"Fine, you're right. I'm being impulsive again." She shyly rises onto her tip-toes, lightly pressing her body against his. "Thanks for everything. I mean it." She kisses him then leaves, softly padding back to their (her?) bedroom. Mako grabs her clothes, quickly dries them and then leaves the baths. He probably should see how Lin's taking the news, or at the very least strive to avoid another situation like that. It would be just his luck for Korra's mother to come in next.

"Mako."

He jumps and releases a breath when he sees that it's only Lin (Spirits, only after facing Amon would he be able to say "only" Lin). Well, speak of Koh, isn't that convenient? Her face is still somber, but it's softer now than it was in the baths when she was _so angry_. Lin glides towards him, her silk robe making no sound even when she rustles the fabric. He clutches Korra's clothes more tightly. "I believe I owe you – and Korra – an apology. I should not have jumped to conclusions like that. It was none of my business," she says stiffly.

He nods.

"I see." Lin goes into the baths and he's finally allowed to return to her (their?) room.

* * *

Korra dresses slowly. When she's dried herself off, she smears milk-and-honey lotion all over her body, reveling in the sweet but mild scent. It makes her skin soft and she likes that. She feels grounded, more in her body now that she's touched each part and reassured herself that yes, everything is still there and it is all hers.

She puts on the frilly underwear Asami gave her, feeling a little silly for caring about that stuff. Asami also gave her some brassieres, but Korra ignores those in favor of traditional bindings. They aren't very comfortable. Asami says it's probably the size difference between them but Korra's not sure she cares enough to explore that hypothesis.

She outfits herself in grey stockings and thick grey pants stuffed with goose feathers to keep her warm. She adds a soft brown shirt and then layers a long blue sweater over it. The hood is lined with white rabbit fur, and the same pelt was used to trim the hem and too-long sleeves.

She likes the way the fabric falls over her hands; it's a good way to keep her fingers warm. At that thought she tosses a few more logs in the fireplace. Oh, so much better! Korra finishes by brushing out her hair with vanilla-scented oil. Floral scents have always been too pungent for her tastes; nothing smells that strong up here in the land of ice and snow.

She tells herself this morning was a mistake. She's going to do better now. She'll have to now that Lin has found her out; Spirits know what could stop that woman if she was really determined to do something. Korra feels a twinge of anger at Mako but quickly bites it down. There wasn't anything he could have done, it's her own damn fault for setting up the situation in the first place.

She wishes Mako would get back already. She hates this room, she hates everything about it. it makes her think of lonely nights, of nightmares and no one to comfort her. She remembers getting burnt in her firebending training, frostbite when waterbending. She remembers bruises all over her body learning earthbending, and she remembers telling herself that she likes pain so that it won't all be so insufferable.

Without a doubt, though, the worst (and yet somehow also the best?) day is the day her cycles start. She wakes up screaming because _she's dying oh Spirits how did this happen_? Guards pour into her room where she's sobbing hysterically, only thirteen years old. Some realize what's happened, some don't, but it doesn't matter because either way the solution is to go fetch Katara. The old woman comes in, and when Korra explains in hushed tones that _there is blood __**there**_, her teacher smiles gently.

"Come with me. No training today." She takes her pupil's hand and pulls her into the baths. Korra strips her clothes off, her heart jumping about in her chest. Katara squeezes her shoulder. "It's okay. This just means you're becoming a woman."

"Oh, great, is that all?" Korra spits. Katara laughs.

"It means you're fertile. Now hold still so I can perform the ritual," Katara orders. Korra wants to ask her what she's talking about, but suddenly water is swirling all around her body. It mixes with her blood, so the water turns red as it flows over her skin. She even weaves it through her hair, making Korra gasp.

After a few minutes Katara bends the water drown a drain, leaving Korra dry. She wraps her in new furs then weaves her hair into some kind of elaborate braided style. Going to the kitchen, all the guards and teachers watch them. She can tell from their expressions that everyone knows what's happened; her face burns with humiliation. They pay her so much attention but somehow she feels all the more isolated for it. She runs away, hiding herself in her room so she can cry in so-called privacy (oh please, like everyone doesn't know exactly what she's going all the damn time).

When the full moon rises she nearly kills herself bending the blood out. Katara finds her, and she has no explanation to offer. Something changes around that time, though. Korra's skin begins to feel too tight on her body and she devotes less time to studying and more to undercutting her superiors. She knows how to walk through the hallways without making a sound, how to keep her breath soft enough that no one will hear her eavesdropping.

This is how she grows her exoskeleton. This is house she learns that she is discussed as "the Avatar" more often than not. Katara is in one of these conversations one day. She says _her name is __**Korra**_. Then the man grumbles (she never does figure out who is) and replies _was Avatar Aang this difficult? _Korra can hear the **disgust** in his voice.

"_Korra_ is her own person. I would urge you to remember so much." There's the snap of a water whip, and when Katara emerges from the room she smiles at her young student. "You only have to be yourself, _daughter_." She kisses her forehead, her dry weathered lips soft like flower petals and containing such multitudes and love. Katara's heart is large, large enough to hold two Avatars. Funny how she could hate her cycles so much and yet they're the only good memories she still holds from this room. Katara said _you are Korra_, and she thinks maybe if she tells herself that often enough, she might even start to believe it.

"Your clothes are clean. Maybe Bolin and I should have started a laundry instead of going into pro-bending. I hear the injury rate is significantly lower," Mako says, coming into the room. She jumps up, pulling him into a hug. Then she purposely stumbles backward, falling onto the bed so he's on top of her. _Mako be my memory_. "You seem to be in a better mood."

"I have a highly attractive young man delivering clean laundry right to my room. Why wouldn't I be?" She pulls the pajamas from his hand, shoving them under a pillow with a wicked grin. She then grabs his shoulders, rolling over so their positions reverse and she's on top of him. "I think such good delivery service merits a tip."

"Tip, hmm?"

She leans over, her stomach lighting up as she kisses him. She likes this side of Mako, the one that hasn't had a chance to get dressed yet and as such is so completely hers. She likes the feeling of his stubble on her face, how his body is languid under hers. He's always warmer in the mornings too, and she can't deny that that's a pleasant bonus.

"You smell nice," he whispers against her. He breaks the kiss and pulls her down next to him so they're lying face-to-face. She presses her face into his chest. She likes this place. This is her safe place, where nothing will hurt her. "Your hair is pretty like this."

"Yeah?" She twists her head, hopelessly trying to see what he does.

"I like – I like that I can do this more easily." He runs his fingers through her hair then cups the back of her head. He tugs her hair gently so she dips her head back, lips reaching for his. He presses his lips to hers and wait, did he just put his tongue in her mouth? She's so confused she forgets to kiss back and he pulls away.

Seriously, how did Lin ever think they were having sex?

"What did I do wrong?" He's watching her and she squirms under his scrutiny. Mako likes rules, he likes guidelines and manuals and _not_ ambiguity. Korra's better at it, but she's woefully inexperienced and this time she's not dealing much better. She wants to please him but she doesn't know how to do that; she doesn't even know where she would start.

Katara taught her the mechanics, of course, and she's heard some stories from the White Lotus sentries, but this is different. Someone is now laying his hands on _her_ skin and every interaction sets off a thousand sparks. These new feelings are overwhelming, though not unpleasant. Like jumping into deep water, sinking down and down knowing that you'll be fine, but still feeling that adrenaline hit of what-if-something-happens.

She feels present in a way she usually doesn't, like she's tethered into herself and won't drift off like a basket in the sea. Mako once bit her and left a bruise on her neck. He apologized over and over and she didn't tell him that she liked the pain. It anchored her. She felt _alive_. She wants that hard touch, she wants to ache and burn so that she won't be a soul, be the Avatar Spirit but she'll be all body, she'll be Korra. It's not like she's good at being the Avatar anyway, however much she wishes it were different.

_. . . She and Tenzin are riding Oogi, and she says "I don't understand what's wrong with me. I've memorized nearly all of the practice forms but I still can't produce a single measly puff of air! I'm a failure."_

_"No, you're not. You just need to work through this airbending block."_

_"Amazing advice. I'll get right on that."_

_"I wasn't finished yet. You see, Aang no only had his bending teachers, but also his pasts lives to call upon for guidance. Have you ever made contact with your past lives?"_

_"No, of course I haven't. Didn't you get the memo from the White Lotus? I'm a spiritual failure too."_

(Someone save her. Someone needs to save her** right now** –)

Oh. Oh, her throat hurts.

_Why? You want to know why?_

_Step into a tanning booth and fry yourself for two or three days. After your skin bubbles and peels off, roll in coarse salt, then pull on long underwear woven from spun glass and razor wire. Over that goes your regular clothes as long as they are tight._

_Smoke gunpowder and go to school to jump through hoops, sit up and beg, roll over on command. Listen to whispers that curl into your head at night, calling you ugly and fat and stupid and bitch and whore and worst of all, "a disappointment". Puke and starve and cut and drink because you don't want to feel any of this. For a while. But then the anesthetic turns into poison and by then it's too late because you are mainlining it now, straight into your soul. It is rotting you and you can't stop._

_Look in a mirror and find a ghost. Hear every heartbeat scream that everysinglething is wrong with you._

_"Why?" is the wrong question._

_Ask "Why not?"_

* * *

Quote 1, 2 - Marya Hornbacher, _Wasted_  
Quote 3 - _Legend of Korra_, S1E8  
Quote 4 - Laurie Halse Anderson, _Wintergirls_

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Oh my goodness, thanks so much to everyone who responded and asked for this! I am deeply humbled by your praise and honored that so many people who take such an interest in my writing.

_Sing Me Down Your Lullaby_ picks up after _Oh the City Lights _and the Season One Finale. The fic will chronicle Korra's struggles with her eating disorder now that her secret's out and she's supposedly, at least, attempting to recover. There will also be flashbacks to events taking place during the _Oh the City Lights _era, i.e. before she gets any help. You can still read _Lullaby _without having read _Oh the City Lights_, but I strongly recommend you read _City_first. It's a one-shot, so it doesn't take even that much time.

I'm excited to start this project. Please let me know your thoughts; it's cliché, but it really does mean a lot to me, and I try to respond to each reviewer and let them know so much. Thank you. – LMB.


	2. Quod Me Nutrit Me Destruit

**Chapter 2: Quod Me Nutrit, Me Destruit**  
_That which Nourishes me Destroys me._

It is instinct that drives Pema into the kitchen. Tenzin doesn't understand her impulse; he tells her that someone else will cook today and she doesn't have to worry herself. Pema scoffs in response. She is a mother, and that makes everything different. She must make sure her babies are fed, that they have full bellies and smiling faces. She must make sure that their food is good, that they never taste rot, or mold, or poisonous undercooked meat. Being a mother means _nourishment_; there is a reason a woman's breasts leak when a child is born. Feeding tiny mouths shall forever be her foremost thought.

Pema makes pancakes that morning, using rough tundra wheat flour and icy moose-goat milk. She stirs in maple sugar and dried apples, smiling when the sugar boils and glazes. They have fresh-tapped syrup today brought over from the village. In the afternoon, Katara will show the kids how to make maple sugar candy in the snow. She knows Tenzin will join them, delighted even as he complains he's too old for his mother to baby him like this. Katara and Pema will share a knowing look, shaking their heads at the idea that there is any such thing as the "too old" child.

Because she's a mother, Pema always feels guilty that she thinks of Korra as a motherless girl. She knows Senna, she's met her a number of times and found the woman to be quite lovely. But the dirty truth is that Korra grew up in a prison with no one to kiss her goodnight. It angers her, and she has to go away and catch her breath sometimes when she thinks about it. There is a nasty part of Pema that hates Korra's mother, that wants to shake her and ask how she could abandon her daughter like that. _Every girl needs a mother_, she wants to scream.

It would do more harm than good. What would it accomplish? Nothing positive. She would make Senna cry, and distance Korra who she so desperately wants to love and shelter. If there's something to be mad about, Korra will figure it out herself, she's a smart girl.

But Korra will never forgive Pema if she tries to poison her against Senna and Tonraq. Pema knows they wouldn't forgive her either, for she would hate anyone who tried to take one of her children away. She twinges with guilt thinking that she has four and to lose one shouldn't be so bad; Korra was an only child. When she left her parents lost their whole world (or _should have_ anyway).

It is maternal instinct that drives Pema to watch her family as they eat. The children squeal with delight, while Asami's eyes light up and Bolin digs in. Katara and Mako share the same steady smile, their gratitude deeper than mere words. Tenzin kisses her cheek as Lin cautiously takes a bite. By the end of the meal, even she'll admit that Pema did a lot with such few resources. The pancakes, by all accounts, are delicious.

Halfway through her own meal, Pema notices that Korra isn't really eating. She takes a bite every so often, but mostly seems intent on discovering how many ways she can move her food around on her plate. Mako's eyes flicker over and she can see it takes physical restraint for him not to say anything. Strangely enough, she also sees Lin watching Korra. Lin stares more blatantly than Mako, and her face shows more lines of worry. Korra either hasn't noticed or is pretending so much; it probably helps that she refuses to look up at anyone.

"Korra, don't you like Mommy's cooking?" Ikki asks, forcing the young Avatar to engage. Korra blinks and Pema can see that she's anxiously biting the inside of her cheek. She wants to take her girl in her arms and hug her, brush away her tears while cooing _everything is going to be fine_. Her feet and hands twitch, demanding she _do something._

"Oh, no, Pema's a great cook!" Korra insists too brightly. "I'm just not very hungry this morning. Mornings are evil. Waterbenders, you know," she babbles. Lin's eyes narrow.

"Honey, are you sick? You're usually starving," Senna says.

Pema's jaw tightens with jealousy and she has to remind herself that this woman is Korra's mother, not her, no matter how long the girl has lived in her home. Senna carried her, Senna gave birth to her. She must respect that – she _must_.

"I'm fine!" Korra snaps. Mako snorts and they glare at each other, each whispering _I dare you_. Electricity cackles and Bolin laughs nervously.

"Um, firebending ones, let's not burn down the nice Water Tribe building?" he suggests. He cringes when they both turn on him, expressions burning even hotter.

"I'm going now," Korra announces. But she stumbles standing up and when she coughs blood spatters all over the floor and table. Lin is the closest; now there are red splotches dripping over her white skin.

"Korra!" Katara yelps. The Avatar tries to wave her off, clutching her head with one hand.

"It's fine. I'm fine," she mutters. She attempts to walk away but Lin easily cuts her off.

"Come on," she growls. She grabs Korra's wrists, dragging her over to Katara. The older woman's face is a dark storm, and she says nothing as she leads them to the healing room. When the door shuts the sound is very final, and Pema suddenly thinks that she's too quick to judge Senna, seeing as it's not like she's done such a good job with Korra herself.

* * *

_Came at you in silence, my back at the wall - I've seen those nights where you binge and purge.  
__Those locks on the doors tell me when you're crouched on all fours counting tile, losing bile and sleep  
__It's just a diet, I've kept it quiet - even if you told all my family and friends they would never believe you.  
__I think you're right, I can't believe it too - that it's you – but it's you._

_You see my problems lie in numbers that leave when I gag and heave;  
__I've weighed out every option – the scale's not fit for advice.  
__Medical language won't ever help to shape this if that mind is just as frail as it's frame.  
__You know I'd leave it alone._

_We can beat genetics, adopting new aesthetics for beautiful bodies, ever-so-slender.  
__Taking control, oh, what a nice, nice thing._

_You see my problems lie in numbers that leave when I gag and heave  
__And heaving's kind of hard with your hands tied round your waist  
__Point out the obvious, tell me just how dangerous  
__Then bundle every fight in an "isn't right" and leave me alone._

* * *

There is blood on Korra's shirt and it looks wrong, too red against the blue. It gives off a reeking metallic scent and Lin almost wants to push her away it stinks so badly. She knows, however, that these things are only in her head and to act out would just alienate everyone. She can't afford to do that as she lacks the charisma her mother always fell back on, so Lin keeps her mouth shut and just takes a seat with the other women.

"Open," Katara demands, her eyes trailing over Korra's body like she's reading a book. Maybe she is, Lin thinks. The body tells all kinds of truths if you know what to look for. To her it's a foreign language, but Katara is fluent and Katara can clear away the gossamer veils of Korra's lies. "Open your mouth. Stop being stubborn."

Korra scowls but obeys. Lin notes the places where her lips' pink skin has broken, where the skin is rough and chapped or scabbed over. She winces.

"Lin, can you give me some light?" Katara asks. Korra protests. They both ignore her.

"Sure." She grabs a small lantern and holds it up so Katara can get a better look. Korra's mouth is not a comforting sight. It's filled with sores and her teeth are beginning to take on a brown stain. Her throat is lacerated like someone has been driving a knife against the flesh, and Lin flinches as she thinks that that's not really so far from the truth. Fingernails can do quite a bit of damage.

"What have you done to yourself?" Katara scolds without any real anger. There is only a deep grief, a heavy pain barely visible. It is the iceberg, the tip alone breaking past the ocean surface. It is the still lake, which seems so calm and steady until you throw a pebble in and realize that still waters ripple, and still waters run deep (deeper that you know).

Lin remembers when she was about seven or so, her aunt Suki (because everyone was aunt or uncle) saved her from drowning. There was a "family" trip to a lake, and while the adults chatted the kids went straight for the cool water. Lin remembers being on solid ground, or solid enough anyway. The sand is restless beneath her feet but her waist lingers above the water, convincing her that all is safe. She steps forward, expecting that she'll find the ground again as usual, for there will always be earth speaking to her, whispering secrets and guiding her home.

There is a trick though, an unforeseeable miscalculation. The sand must be some kind of under-water cliff because when Lin moves she is plunged into darkness and there is nothing to catch her. Aunt Katara and Uncle Sokka taught her how to swim ages ago, but none of that matters now.

Even years later, she's never sure if the water was too strong or if she just panicked and forgot. It doesn't matter in the end, because the result is the same – she torpedoes to the bottom of the lake like she is stone, like to be an earthbender means to have earth _inside_ of you. Lin opens her mouth to scream but there is only more water, water to choke and kill and _take_. She knows she will be dead soon, and all she can think about is how disappointed her mother is going to be.

Suddenly strong arms wrap around her waist, tugging her up and up and up until sunlight slams against her face. Lin tries to breathe; she can only make a wet gurgling noise. She would like to sleep, but the panicked look on Aunt Suki's face suggests that perhaps that isn't a good idea. A panicked expression means something exciting is going on, and Lin would hate to miss anything _exciting_.

Really, having the family she does you'd think that there would be great adventures going on **all** the time, but her parents and their friends are hopelessly boring now that they're old. She makes Tenzin promise her that they'll never, ever, end up like that.

"_Lin!"_ Toph screams, wanting to grab her daughter but knowing she can't because if she does she'll only make things worse. She can't see too well on the sandy dirt shore so is taunted by the knowledge that her baby is limp in Suki's arms and she is unwell. Very rarely does Toph think about her blindness or resent it; in this moment, however, she would give up earthbending a thousand times just to see her daughter.

"It's okay, Katara has her," Zuko soothes, gripping Toph's shoulder. Toph tries to take comfort in this; Zuko would only hold her back if it were absolutely the best thing to do. They have a rule about that in their friendship: don't let the other person be an idiot. It works quite well and does wonders for the others' mental health bills.

Lin blinks dizzily as Aang and Katara hover over her. She can't quite get their faces to focus, and it's really funny but somehow she knows that nothing should be amusing to her right now. Big grown-up arms are wrapping around her limbs and then she's silently screaming as Katara pulls streams of water from her lungs. _Oh Spirits, it hurts! _It takes forever and it makes the dizziness even worse.

"Don't worry, you're fine," Aang says as she gasps, gaping like a fish. He gently bends a breeze towards her, threading it into her lungs as easily as if she had taken a breath on her own. The dizziness begins to fade, and her mother pulls her into a hug while tears stream down her face. Lin barely notices her, too busy staring at the traitorous water.

_Still waters run deep, be careful you don't fall off the edge and __**drown**_.

Now Lin watches Katara bend a small orb of water, bringing it towards Korra's throat. The Avatar starts pulling away so Lin grabs her, forcing her to hold still. Both women are kneeling on the ground, Lin behind (a none-too-happy) Korra. Lin has one arm around her waist and the other is laced through her arms, the grip so tight her shoulder blades slam against each other (you can be that there'll be bruises).

Lin's thighs press against Korra's so she can't kick out, can't run away. This doesn't stop her from clenching her jaw shut, so Lin pulls her arms tighter and reaches up to grab her ponytail. She yanks hard and Korra is forced to open her mouth as Lin drags her head back.

"Don't struggle, it will only make it worse for you," Katara says. She presses one hand against the bottom of Korra's jaw, looking apologetic. Korra isn't placated.

With a sigh, Katara guides the water down her throat, holding steady even as Korra struggles. She can't win against the two of them, not if she doesn't want to breathe fire and cause serious injury. Korra's eyes charge _traitor_ and her skin is painfully hot. She gags as Katara heals her, trying to spit up the water (she has no real success). When Katara finally pulls away a few minutes later, they are all silent, searching for words that don't exist. Korra breaks it by violently yanking herself from Lin's grip.

"Don't _ever_ do that to me again," she hisses, her shoulders tightening so her collarbones thrust out all the more. They look like daggers and Lin can't imagine how they don't rip right through the Avatar's paper-fragile skin.

"Get your act together and I won't have to," she shoots back. Katara frowns.

"Be quiet, Lin," she snaps, making Lin feel like she's still five years old and getting caught stealing cookies before dinner.

"And you, Korra . . ." Katara's voices falters as she look at her pupil, her eyes shining like she's too upset to even cry. "Why is this happening?" she asks. She does not say _why are you doing this _or _what's wrong with you_, but she seeks to connect and understand (like water flowing from sea to river and back, like water cycling from ground to rain).

Korra shrugs.

"It's not a big deal. You didn't have to heal me and make such a fuss, I would have been fine," she insists, staring at her feet. "Just a stomach bug. Really."

"Don't lie to me." Katara's voice is an icestorm but Korra's eyes match her chill-for-chill. Lin finds herself half waiting for them to start attacking each other, though by now she knows better than that. They'll just snap at each other and be angry, always holding back just a little because that's what you do when you care about someone that much.

Lin decides to save them all some time.

"You were throwing up in the baths today, I heard you," she says. This is sufficiently disconcerting; Korra's knees buckle and she flops to the ground. Lin grabs Korra's right hand, holding it out to Katara like some kind of morbid offering. "Her knuckles are ripped up because she bites down when she's gagging herself."

"Shut up!" Korra hisses. She pulls her hand away and the friction of her skin against Lin's forces the cuts open. Fresh blood streams over her hand and Katara's face is grey like she can't decide to be sad or angry or sick. She _looks _old. "I'm going to kill Mako," Korra growls under her breath. She turns to Lin. "I can't believe he told you!"

"I can't believe no one else did!" Lin returns. "You're acting insane!" She throws her arms up and Katara smacks them back down.

"You will not speak like that," she orders. A deep breath. "Korra, I think you should eat something – and _keep it down _– but it's your choice." She rises to her feet, white hair swinging. The two younger women watch her warily. "Are you two going to sit here all day?" They jump to their feet, glaring at each other but remaining quiet under Katara's shrewd gaze.

When they get out, breakfast has been cleared and the children have been taken away (except Jinora; Lin sees her linger in the hall eavesdropping. _Ah, that's how she knew about Tenzin and I. Cunning girl._) Pema and Tenzin look defeated, Asami and Bolin worried. Tonraq and Senna are clearly devastated – they are lost, wanting to ask what happened to their little girl, what went so horribly wrong that she would do _something like this _to herself. Mako of course is expressionless.

"Well?" Tenzin prompts uncomfortably, looking at his mother.

"Her throat is healed," Katara says evenly. "Is there any tea left?" They're all silent, and then they explode.

"What did you people _do_ to my daughter?" Tonraq shouts, standing up just as Tenzin gets to his feet.

"Do? We didn't _do_ anything!" he replies. "We took her into our home and treated her like one of our own children, she's had a very difficult couple of months however – "

"And whose fault would that be? Where are those White Lotus people? Why weren't they protecting her?" Tonraq is looking for someone (Oh Spirits, anyone) to blame for his daughter's condition. Anyone but himself, because how will he live if it's his fault that this happened, if this is all because they let her leave but they should have kept her close? They only wanted what was best for her, they only wanted to do right as the parents of the Avatar . . .

(Maybe that's the problem. Being the parents of the Avatar rather than _Korra's_ parents).

"Sit down, Tonraq, you're not helping the situation," his wife spits. Her face softens when she looks at her daughter. "How can we – what do you need from us?" she asks, her hands clasped in front of herself like she's praying. Korra turns away.

"Nothing. I'm fine." She shifts her weight, staring at her feet. "I mean, look, it's been a problem, but it's under control now. I just messed up this one time, okay? Why is everyone making such a big deal? It was just a mistake. It won't happen again!" She storms away (Jinora holds her breath and presses against the wall, disappearing into the shadows). Tonraq begins to follow.

"Don't, just give her some space," Mako advises, shaking his head. Tonraq stares at him, wondering when his little girl stopped being his, when this boy with yellow eyes and pale skin learned his daughter better than her father.

It makes Tonraq wonder if he ever knew her in the first place.

* * *

_I understood what triggered her earthquakes, most of them. I knew how much it hurt to be the daughter of people who can't see you, not even if you are standing in front of them stomping your feet._

* * *

Even Korra's controversial eating habits cannot overshadow the joy that is Winter Solstice. Given that they're all in the South Pole anyway, it's agreed that they're going to celebrate together as a family. What is the season about if not familial in-fighting after all?

Korra finds the whole thing rather weird. She's only been home for Winter Solstice at the end of the season, after all the cheer and decorating is over and all there is to do is unwrap presents and share a meal with her parents. It was her longest break of the year at the Compound. They gave her Winter Solstice Eve until the day after New Year's. Then it was back to training, back to _Korra do this _and _you're doing it wrong _and _stop being so impulsive. _Her parents have never say anything like that to her, but sometimes she wonders if it's just because they were never around long enough to see her act out or disobey. How depressing; even her amiable relationships with her mother are father are actually manifestations of her psychopathology.

"Korra, are you doing to teach us how to ice skate?" Ikki asks three days after the Incident. She bounds into the kitchen with all the energy of an over-caffeinated chipmunk-squirrel, and Korra can tell by the look on her face that she's already forgotten her question in the interest of securing breakfast.

"Um, this afternoon, sure – but Korra has to get changed now," she laughs uncomfortably. Ikki's too young - or at least too easily distracted – to notice that she's wearing _Mako's_ shirt, but if she's up others can't be far behind and Korra does not need the grief. Especially considering Mako kind-of-sort-of doesn't know that she has his shirt. This whole thing is just more evidence that mornings are evil. Nothing good happens in the mornings, there's a reason people sleep through them. Honestly.

"Sorry I know I was supposed to babysitting her – oh!" Bolin nearly trips over his feet as he stumbles into the kitchen. Korra groans. "That's Mako's shirt!"

. . . _Thanks_.

"Korra why are you wearing Mako's shirt? Is this because you like him? Do you guys sleep together like Mommy and Daddy? Did he give it to you because he likes you? Did you take it from him? Did you run out of clean things to wear?" Ikki chirps. Bolin is doing a very poor job trying to suppress his laughter. Even Korra's best you're-dead glare fails to daunt him.

"Ikki, stop – stop asking _me_ questions," she says slowly, a grin spreading over her face. "You know who you should talk to instead? You should talk to Bolin. He'll be much more helpful." Her voice is sweet but her eyes are glinting with triumph. Bolin sticks his tongue out at her and she laughs, watching Ikki turn on him and begin her siege. "Don't mess with the Avatar, Bo!" she cackles, spiriting away from the kitchen.

"Evil girl," Bolin mutters, glaring at the empty space she's left behind. Ikki climbs onto his shoulders, informing him that he is her ostrich-pony, now RIDE! She yanks his hair, giggling when he yelps at the pain. "Not nice!"

The increased laughter suggests that his words are not having the desired effect.

"I found another one," Asami says sympathetically as she joins them. Meelo toddles in behind her. "He follows me everywhere, I swear," she whispers into Bolin's ear. He flushes at her closeness, catching a whiff of her rose-scented perfume.

"We can't help being ridiculously attractive," he teases, tugging her hair playfully. Meelo roars and throws himself against Bolin's legs.

"I challenge you to an Agni Kai! For the pretty lady's honor!" he shouts dramatically, moving into a caricature of one of Firelord Zuko's stances. Asami presses her hand to her mouth, her shoulders shaking.

"Great uncle Zuko is not like that, Meelo, and you shouldn't say you're fighting for her honor, that doesn't mean what you think it means," Jinora scoffs. She enters from outside, bundled in a parka with snow in her hair.

"Where were you?" Ikki asks. She squirms, unable to choose between Bolin's shoulders and poking her sister.

"Observing snow owl-cats in their natural environment," Jinora reports. She begins taking off her winter overcoats, putting them away neatly. "Grandma came with me."

"She still around?" Bolin asks. Sifu Katara scares him; he really doesn't want her to come in when he's lost all babysitting control over her grandchildren.

"She went home for a few things." Jinora puts a pot on to make tea. "She wants to make cookies later, I think."

"That's always my favorite!" Asami squeals. "I used to bake these huge batches for the help every year and put them together as gift baskets! You have to tell me what kinds we're making," she insists.

Bolin has never seen her shine so bright, and it's a good look for her. He has grown accustomed to the idea of Asami as bone; strong and tough, but still brittle enough she will break before she bends. She is fragile, still recovering from her family that wasn't and she's been wearing a mask to keep herself safe.

Now her winter is ending, she is stretching and looking at the dawn thinking that hibernation season is over, and it is time to go outside again. She is unfolding herself, she is the river weaving over rocks and she is the flower that reaches for the sun and peels back her petals to say _I am vulnerable but with you I am safe so I'll let you in as far as in is and could be and will ever be_.

"I want to help! I volunteer!" he shouts, waving his arms around enthusiastically. Ikki shrieks in delight at the challenge and he's so caught up in Asami he doesn't mind that Ikki is practically yanking his hair right out of his head.

"Excellent. Oh, this is going to be so fun!" Asami is already pawing through the kitchen, exploring cabinets to find what ingredients she has. "You know I was the best cook and baker in my school? I used to love experimenting with different recipes, but I never had anyone to try things," she says with a _what-can-you-do _smile.

"That is a tragedy," Bolin deadpans. "I will be your guinea pig-rabbit henceforth. Promise." He flashes her a grin and she raises her eyebrows. "Hey, don't give me that look, I like trying different foods and I'm good at tasting all the different parts. Plus, as you know I can stomach anything. Street gruel included."

This actually gets her to _laugh_.

"Fine, you win, you win!" She holds her hands up in defeat. "We'll get started on our culinary adventure when we get home." Her tone of voice suggest she's trying to act like it's no big deal, but he sees past that. He sees her anxiety in the tightness of the corners of her lips, indicating that her smile is forced. She is scared to believe that he'll do what he says; she has ached for someone to bind themselves to her, to be a friend and follow through. This thing, this abstract concept has constantly danced out of her reach, nothing more than blurred light.

Her fear runs deeper than that, however, because the only thing worse is that he'll uphold his word but she'll chase him away. She'll be a disappointment, she'll be unworthy of his time and attention. She wants to say _what if you find out who I really am, Bolin? You won't like that girl. I know so._

Yet she hopes (against her own will). He reads it in the buoyancy of her step, the way she dances more than walks around the kitchen. Her limbs move in graceful arcs and arches, she stands on tip-toe and balances on one leg or the other. She is nimble, a snowflake realized in human form.

"I want to help too! Down, ostrich-pony!" Ikki declares. Meelo has also found his way to Asami's side, looking at her as though she were a divine creature come to flatter them with her presence. Asami is too kind to tell him that he's getting in her way and it would be better for him to go play with his sisters (well, sister, Jinora doesn't really play with her siblings).

"Ostrich-pony – now there's something I haven't heard in a while," a deep voice remarks. The five of them turn to see who's there and gasp at the sight. Though dressed in casual clothes, the scar means he will never pass as just anyone in the world. He is the Late Firelord Zuko, standing before them in all his glory.

"Mr. Firelord Sir! Good morning! Or ack, sorry, I mean your highness . . . ?" _Shut up, Bolin_. "Um, wait, your Majesty?" _That was not shutting up_.

"No titles are necessary. Zuko here," he says. "Have any of you seen Katara? The White Lotus sentries told me she was here." He furrows his brow, trying to hide growing disappointment.

"How typical of you, Zuko, always with the rude behavior," Katara tuts from the doorway. She is wearing a smirk that makes her look at least thirty years younger. "In polite society, it's expected that you'll ask people for their names before making other requests."

He laughs and embraces her, rolling his eyes when she protests good-naturedly.

"It's nice to see you too, old friend," he says. Turning back to the others, he bows his head. "Please tell me your names."

"And you're sorry you didn't ask sooner."

"I'm sorry I didn't ask sooner, _Mom_."

Katara mumbles something under her breath about certain things never really changing.

"Well, you know us, great Uncle Zuko!" Ikki says. She uses her airbending to project herself off Bolin's shoulders into the former Firelord's arms. Ikki tugs on his long dark hair and he smiles in a way that suggests he only tolerates such behavior because she is his (almost) grandchild.

"Of course I know you. And Meelo – who's much bigger than I remember," he comments. Meelo cries out in triumph.

"Look, I can do Agni Kai moves!" He shows off his "firebending stance" again, then moves through a series of "attacks".

"Well, that's not exactly proper – I mean, very good Meelo, you're becoming an excellent warrior." He changes his sentence halfway through when Katara drives one of her pointy elbows into his ribs. "Jinora," he says, nodding at the oldest girl. They smile at each other like they have their own language. "I brought the books you asked for. And a few you didn't."

She grins.

"Thanks uncle Zuzu," she replies, giving a little bow. He ruffles her hair playfully as Katara shakes her head.

"Jinora, you must be the luckiest girl on earth," she comments. Asami and Bolin stare at her, waiting for an explanation. "Right. Azula used to call him Zuzu. Anyone but Jinora he would kill in a fiery death," she chirps. He scowls.

"Not everybody," he whines.

". . . Toph?"

"Shut up, Katara!" he insists as the waterbender laughs. "Toph knew better! Jinora was a baby! It's cute when she says it!"

"Aww, you do have a heart!" She pats his chest and he sighs.

"That's family for you," Jinora mutters.

* * *

Lin wakes up to the smells of cookies and very distinct tea. _Uncle Zuko_, she thinks with surprise. She quickly dresses and goes to join the others, eyes fluttering shut with pleasure when the heat caresses her face. Katara and Zuko are having tea while Zuko entertains Ikki and Meelo with Fire Nation stories and Jinora reads in a corner.

Asami and Bolin are ostensibly baking, but really they're sending each other shy, flirting looks when the other isn't looking. It actually isn't so different from the way Katara and Zuko are looking at each other and Lin decides to watch them. She's curious; their humanity is a constant surprise in the way our parents' always is.

"Uncle," she greets him. He gives a small wave and indicates that the children aren't planning to let him go over for a proper greeting any time soon. No matter. She's content to sit at the table and get some food before all that anyway. Lin had hoped for quiet, but too soon Pema and Tenzin are there, Pema looking tired with Rohan in her arms and Tenzin greeting his uncle with a smile and open arms. Senna and Tonraq just stare, too intimidated to really feel comfortable around the Firelord. They have never adjusted to the glamour of their world post-Korra.

"Your Avatar sleeps late," Zuko notes as the younger ones eat and chat. Katara rolls her eyes.

"At least now it doesn't matter so much, you should have tried pulling her out of bed for training all those years. Korra is quite stubborn," she says. He pokes her side.

"Not unlike someone else we know."

"Yes, not unlike _someone else we know_ at all," she returns. Their eyes meet and she feels something warm flare in her chest, something she hasn't felt in almost twenty years. His golden eyes are shimmering, he will match her blow for blow so they are forever dancing and forever urging each other on. He can bring out the worst in her, something she hated when she was younger but now – now it's different, somehow.

She supposes it's because when she's with him, she feels most herself. Not her best self, but her whole self, the self who holds grudges and loses her temper and lets her emotions run away with her mind. With Aang, she was her best self. She was as much the Avatar's wife and consort as she was Aang's, and she would never say she didn't love him. She's not even sure she has any regrets.

Still something remains unsatisfied.

There is something to be said for the whole and flawed self. To always be her best self – she thinks it was tiring sometimes. He said he loved her and all of her; a traitorous voice says _no, Aang, you didn't love me as a wife, you loved me as a goddess and worshipped at my feet. You could not have loved me in total, in summation blind to my flaws as you were_.

It's not that she doesn't love him or miss him, it's not that she doesn't ache for him at least a little everyday. She has resented Korra at times for failing to make spiritual connections, wanting to shake the girl and say _find him, bring him home to me_. She has resented Korra as though she purposefully took him from her, as though it's her fault Aang had to die. She stole him so she could be the Avatar, never thinking of all who loved him. Katara can hardly find him there sometimes; she thinks of what Tenzin told her Lin said to him – _I can't believe your sweet-tempered father was reincarnated into that girl. She's tough as nails._

Yet she loves Korra as her daughter. She truly does. Because when you finally get over your grief and your irrationality, when you never hear a single White Lotus sentry address her by name, you remember things. You remember the insult of people who called your husband _Avatar_ and not _Aang_, like he was an entity but not a person.

You remember how it hurt him, how he looked in the mirror and pinched his flesh to assure himself of his realness and solid thereness. And so Katara would say _Korra, Korra, Korra_ over and over again, murmuring _you are different, you are not Aang. You are a person and you are your own person, you belong to yourself, you are Korra before you are the Avatar. You have a name. You have a self. You are flesh and blood, you are not pure spirit. You are earthly, you are mortal, you are human; you are __**Korra.**_

Speaking of which –

"Hey – wow, lots of people," Korra comments, blinking as she looks around. Mako is following close behind, still yawning and rubbing sleep-sand out of his eyes. "Firelord Zuko," Korra says, bowing. Mako notices and quickly follows her.

"Korra – and friend. Oh, what's your name?" he asks eagerly. He gives Katara a look and she chuckles.

"I'm Mako," he says. The Firelord nods, muttering it under his breath in hopes of remembering at least a few of these people. He notices the boy's golden eyes, and can't resist asking.

"Are you a firebender?"

He looks startled, but nods.

"He's really good, don't let him tell you otherwise. And Bolin's a great earthbender. Asami isn't a bender, but she's really good with technology. She knows how to drive a car," Korra informs him. Mako shakes his head.

"I'm okay, Korra. And that's in pro-bending," he protests. Zuko's eyes light up.

"I know you! You're more than okay!" he declares. "I've heard your matches on the radio."

"Yeah! We would have won except for cheating jerks," Korra growls darkly. She notices the adults pretending they're not giving her anxious looks, so she sits down, getting herself something to eat. Everyone watches as she picks out a roll and spreads it with moose-goat cheese and blueberry preserves.

They watch her eating, which gets increasingly difficult given that their stares are making her nauseated. She grips Mako's hand under the table and he squeezes back. Still halfway through the roll, Korra decides she can't take this anymore. She sets down the food and pushes her plate away.

"I'm done," she mutters.

Zuko watches the scene with curiosity. He has idea why everyone is so interested in what the Avatar's eating for breakfast, especially to the point where they've all stopped talking. Her decline to eat seems highly unwelcome to be sure, but he's still caught off guard when the yelling begins.

"Korra, eat," Tenzin commands, gesturing towards the food.

_ If she were a dog_, Zuko thinks, looking at her face, _her ears would be flat against her head right now_.

"I'm not hungry," she argues. "Just leave me alone."

"Sit for a while, then," he says coldly. Korra snorts fire and Zuko feels somewhat alarmed. That usually happens to him when he's angry enough to do some serious damage to whatever the nearest object happens to be.

"I'm not going to do anything! Lay off!" she shouts. Zuko decides he can't stand the not-knowing any longer.

"Who wants to tell me what's going on?" he asks, invoking his I-am-the-Firelord-and-you-will-listen voice. To their credit, the adults look cowed.

"It's, um, a small problem we're addressing," Tenzin says, attempting to be delicate without success. Korra rolls her eyes as Jinora glances up from her book.

"Korra is demonstrating a response to stress in her life that is not atypical in her situation, for while it is maladaptive and pathological many do resort to such coping techniques in the face of overwhelming stress. She has manifested self-destructive symptomology in the form of food rejection. Mostly this involves excessive exercise and fasting. Failing these outlets, she self-induces vomiting to rid herself of food. It does not appear to be rooted in suicidal ideation, fortunately." Jinora reports. Someone mutters _that girl is going to be the most famous professor of Ba Sing Se University one day_.

"Ah," Zuko says. He can see the young Avatar trying to restrain her temper (for the record, he can tell she's doing a good job for _her_, but by normal standards it's not terribly impressive) and he empathizes.

* * *

_Some are born great, __some achieve greatness, __and some have greatness thrust upon them._

* * *

He remembers what it is like to be young against a world of expectation (high hopes and jeering doubts). He remembers what it is to take it all into the body, to scream _mea culpa _at the mirror but still feel like a sinner. There is no redemption for the cursed, for the one who should have tried-harder-been-more-done-better-oh-you-are-_such_-a-failure. You are desperate for control or anything that vaguely resembles it, you want to know that the body others claim as theirs is at least in some small way yours too.

To be young and self-destructive and say to them all _if you're going to watch me anyway why don't you watch me destroy myself? It'll be __**fun**_.

"I'm going for a walk. Korra?" he asks, careful to keep his thoughts out of his voice. She looks at him as though sizing him up, then nods her agreement. Mako's gaze follows her and Zuko makes a mental note about seeking him out later; he probably needs to talk as well.

Korra pulls on her parka and they head out into the day, squinting against the bright sunlight. As usual there is a fresh layer of snow underfoot, but all it takes is a little bending to clear a path. It is a while before they speak, both leery of the house with all its listening people.

"I'm sure this is exactly what you hoped for when you met the new Avatar," Korra says sarcastically. She shoves a piece of hair behind one ear, glaring at the wind that keeps blowing it into her face. She could try to bend it, but she isn't sure what she would do, exactly, and it seems like a lot of work.

"Even Aang had his moments," Zuko shrugs. "Katara will tell you that I take the prize, however." He gives Korra a wry smile. She blinks then pointedly turns away.

"And why's that?" She kicks up a chunk of ice. It flies into the air and she hits it with a stream of fire, watching as it bursts into a fit of steam.

"These." He pulls back his sleeve to reveal rows of thin raised white lines. They're subtle, you might not notice if no one pointed them out. Looking, though, it's almost impossible to think of anything else. There are dozens of them, crossing each other and overlapping like wild grass tangling in a meadow. Her hand hovers in the air, instinct driving her to touch them while reason holds her back. "It's okay," Zuko whispers, noticing her conflict. She swallows, and then she puts her hand on his arm.

The skin is tough but smooth, like rocks after years of storms. She can feel his heat and the steady hum of his blood; it beats a comforting staccato rhythm against her fingertips. She runs her fingers up and down the pale skin and the ribbed lines make her shiver. His pulse throbs and she reminds herself that somehow everything is still okay, he's here and alive and not destroyed by his darkness (this same darkness, she thinks, that feels echo in her own body).

She knows where the darkness is. It sits in the core of her body at the junction of her sternum and breasts. It is a floating black ball that gives off wisps and whips of smoke, venomous tentacles that reach out to contaminate those around her. Sometimes she feels it when that happens; she feels it pouring out our mouth, a stinking black sludge. She catches glimpses of it shooting from her fingertips, or sees it in the mirror, an aura around her, a transparent but impenetrable box.

"Katara wouldn't like me telling you this," Zuko continues as she stares (he finds her almost child-like in her curiosity). "She'd think I was encouraging you to develop bad habits. Assuming you haven't developed this habit already," he adds. She shakes her head.

"So you cut yourself? Just so I know what we're talking about," she clarifies. He nods and almost falls back into his room in the Fire Palace, when he was sixteen and watching red streams flow thicker towards his elbows with each incision.

"Yes. Katara would heal them. And then yell at me. She'd say she wasn't going to help me again, and then break all her promises as soon as she saw me again." He laughs but there's no mirth.

"I don't know how to quit," Korra whispers, her hand falling back to her side. She turns her face to the sun, dipping her head back slightly so she can feel its warmth.

"You stop when it stops working. It will hurt your friends and family. It will drive some of them away. They'll accuse you of doing this to spite them," he tells her bluntly. She is shaking but trying not to show it.

* * *

_You've made a decision: you will not stop. The pain is necessary, especially the pain of hunger. It reassures you that you are strong, can withstand anything, that you are not a slave to your body, you don't have to give in to its whining. In truth, you like the pain. You like it because you believe that you deserve it._

* * *

"It's not about anyone else," Korra protests. She pinches the bridge of her nose with her thumb and index finger. "And what do you mean when it stops working? Like I'm having so much fun right now?" She blasts off a series of flames, scorching the snow and ice as if there is an enemy out there who is visible only to her eyes.

"The doctors at the Fire Nation Center for Mental Health have told me that we're all motivated by pleasure. That is, we do things because there's something to gain. We stop doing things when the cost outweighs the benefit." It took him a few weeks and several economics lessons to understand the concept. Korra presses her lips together, considering.

"If you say so," she replies.

He's pretty sure she doesn't believe him, but he thinks she's going to at least consider it. Korra seems like the type who would have no trouble telling him why he was stupid and wrong if that was her opinion.

"You want to go back to the compound?" he asks. She shakes her head.

"I'm going to walk by myself for a while. Hopefully no one will panic too much," she snorts. He nods and begins walking back. Zuko turns around once, just in time to see Korra's blue parka disappear in a cloud of white snow.

* * *

Bolin and Asami find Mako in (his and?) Korra's room. He sits on the bed holding a well-loved stuffed polar bear-dog, his eyes distant but not unfocused. Asami and Bolin exchange looks, silently daring the other to go first. Finally Asami shoves Bolin into the room with a hiss of _he's your brother, he's my ex-boyfriend!_ Bolin stumbles and Mako finally notices their presence.

"Oh. Hi," he says. Bolin straightens up, scowling at Asami. His anger softens to concern when he turns back to his older brother.

"We wanted to see how you were doing," Bolin tells him. "It's been a lot of drama the past couple of – well, I was going to say days, but that doesn't really cover enough, does it?" He rubs the back of his neck and smiles sheepishly.

"Yeah," Mako laughs. He moves over so they can sit with him.

"That Korra's?" Asami asks. He nods. "Isn't she going to be mad at you for going through her stuff?"

"I didn't go _through_ anything, it was right here!" Mako says indignantly (Bolin is beginning to rethink his choice to sit between him and Asami). He huffs and crosses his arms. "I was just thinking, that's all," he mutters.

"Discover anything? Like muscles you didn't know you had?" Bolin teases. Asami elbows him.

"I just – what do you like other than fighting?" Mako stands up to face them, running his fingers though his hair with distress rolling off his skin like the scent of salt coming off the ocean. Bolin speaks first.

"I like Pabu!" he chirps. "I mean, I like all animals, really. And making jokes. And dude, I could totally be a circus leader," he says excitedly. Asami grins. "Plus, I like food. Cheffing? Er, cooking? I could do that. Yeah I could!" he continues confidently. He looks to Asami and Mako's eyes narrow seeing this happen. Something is becoming between them; he doesn't think they even realize it yet. He bites his lip, deciding he'll have to figure out how he feels about that later.

"I've always done a lot of baking. Dirty little secret," Asami says with a blush when the brothers give her quizzical looks. "Plus I'm pretty good with technology. I can fix a Future Industries product faster than anyone in the company. And I do a better job to boot." She smirks as though she's defying someone by taking pride in her work.

"That's why your chi-glove always worked so well. You enhanced it!" Bolin declares. He jumps up from his seat. "You. Are. Awesome." He gestures to her with both arms, palms open in presentation.

"Hmm."

Mako, apparently, is in brooding mode. Bolin decides that his is not acceptable.

"Hey, we're right here! Talk!" he orders, poking Mako in the chest. Mako gives him a pointed look and Bolin shrinks back, lowering himself to sit beside Asami. Usually this would be the end of it, but Bolin clears his throat and forges ahead. "Look, dude, we're Korra's friends too. I know it will probably make you break out in hives, but let us help anyway. You don't need to protect everyone from everything all the time; the world isn't out to get you, you know."

"Sure seems like it." Mako's voice is so soft and bitter it's not clear that he meant for Bolin and Asami to hear.

"Bro, you don't have to be responsible for everything, I'm not some little kid anymore. I was there too. I fought the Big Bad Equalists," Bolin argues.

"Don't remind me, I feel bad enough!" Mako snaps. Bolin starts to say something but closes his mouth as Asami angrily inserts herself between them.

"The family love is sweet, but I'd like to get back to whatever it was Mako was saying about _Korra_ before we got distracted." She puts her hands on her hips and challenges either to cross her. Bolin settles back onto the bed while Mako takes a chair from Korra's desk, straddling it backwards. Asami leans against Korra's dresser, shifting her weight from leg to leg.

"I don't know what I'd do if I lost my bending," Mako says after a while. He stares at the floor, still holding Korra's stuffed polar bear-dog. He plays with it absentmindedly, once pressing it to his nose as if he can get closer to Korra through her scent.

"You would just be more insufferably maternal and overprotective than you are already," Bolin says. "I don't see where you're going with this – "

"When was the last time Korra talked about anything other than bending?" Mako asks, cutting him off.

Something clicks in Asami's head; it's like the moment when you're picking a lock and you hear the pins and bolts tumbling into place. "She doesn't. It's all pro-bending, Avatar training." She looks at Bolin and sees that yes, he's got it too.

"So the threat of losing her bending – " he begins. Asami is too excited to let him continue. She's solved the puzzle.

" – is terrifying because she doesn't have any other identity." They have the key now. They have the missing pieces. So they can put the puzzle together, right? Everything will be okay?

* * *

_Even when I took first prize, topped the class, won the race, I never really won anything. I was merely avoiding the embarrassment of losing._

* * *

Korra lets herself sit on the edge of a cliff, the wind whipping her hair back. It chaps her face, tearing open her lips and her cheeks. It makes her nose bleed and scrapes her eyes raw so that however much they water, however much she blinks, she still hurts. That's okay – she's pretty sure she deserves it.

She who has failed over and over, who has tripped over her feet in front of her enemies and all the other people she's ever tried to impress. To dangle here now, life and death so close they might kiss – this is exhilaration. This is her favorite place, the in-between place where she cannot be accused of failing and no one will tell her _that's nice, that you accomplished something, dear. So now jump higher_.

She wonders what would happen if she peeled all her skin off. What would she find there in that underneath place? Red blood and black marrow? White bones, something shimmery that whispers _bender _or _Avatar_? She wants to know if there's anything beyond her organs, any way to strip herself down far enough to find what is essential, what is quintessence, is there a soul somewhere in there? Spirituality suggests that there must be – if there is an Aang and a Roku and a Kuruk, surely there must be a Korra as well, correct?

But she doesn't know where that person may be. She is elusive as the night, she is moonshine slipping under the horizon as you wake up. She mocks you and says _catch me if you can. _You can't catch her, by the way.

So she is all Avatar. She is elements, she is the-spirit-of-the-planet-manifest. She is fighting stances and training and practices. There is no self underneath. She is no one's daughter. She is no one's family. She is a silver thread to connect the world, a soul. And if that is true – why bother with flesh at all? How much better then, to break all her bones just to see what will come out.

Zuko says she has to want to stop. That she has to want to be _better _more than she wants to be _not-better_. Korra doesn't know how this would happen. She can't get better until she's sure there's something there to preserve. She must first remove all the unnecessary bits and find what's down there under the yellow fat; when she finds her bones she'll know she is real, she has a self and a body all her own. She wants to have something worth wanting. She wants to believe that people love her and not what she represents, not what she has inherited.

So she has starvation. She has vomiting. She has rituals, deadly chants-against-death that keep her safe so she can linger in the in-between place.

* * *

1 - Numbers by Pompeii (song)  
2 - Wintergirls by Laurie Halse Anderson (book - fiction)  
3 - Twelfth Night by William Shakespeare (play) (III.v)  
4 - Wasted by Marya Hornbacher (book - memoir)  
5 - Unbearable Lightness by Portia de Rossi (book - memoir)


	3. Unbound

**Chapter 3: Perception**

* * *

_**"I was not** wholly convinced that I would be able to go on with an eating disorder, so I didn't throw myself headlong into recovery. I think I had the idea that if I could just get a little happier, my eating disorder simply wouldn't matter anymore. Maybe I could just have a moderate eating disorder when I got out, but not be so miserable. Just "diet normally" like "everyone else"._

* * *

Asami is good at baking because she's good at chemistry. It makes sense when you think about it: baking, in its most basic form, is chemical calculation. How long for the bread to rise, you ask? Well, that depends on how much baking soda you add, doesn't it now? In this way Asami knows both exactly how long to bake a cake, and exactly what gas combination will give your Satomobile the best mileage.

People have asked her how she does it, commented that her work is so-impressive. This doesn't mean anything to her; it's something that has always come naturally, easy as slicing through softened butter. Impressive? Difficult? Well, if you say so, she supposes. But it hardly seems fair when she won her first baking contest at the age of twelve (mango-coconut cake with a lychee glaze) and her first car race at the age of thirteen (if you use Earth Kingdom oil instead of Fire Nation your car goes much faster because Earth Kingdom oil is more refined).

Asami knows from hazy, half-formed memories that she gets these things from her mother. Her mother, not her father, came up with Future Industries' signature gas. And her mother, not the caterers, who cooked and served every dinner and every party they hosted. The nice thing about food is that it's indefinite. Asami can make the say dish over and over again, and each time she renews her mother's love.

Sometimes she can still feel her there, helping her like she always did. Asami imagines her mother is standing behind her, watching her work and smiling with quiet pride. Her mother did have standards for her, but she was also always proud of her daughter. Asami remembers her mother's hair tickling her neck as strands fell from her bun. She evokes the ghost of her mother's hands, rough and chapped over hers as she taught her how to use a rolling pin. Asami misses her mother, but at the same time she feels like she has no right to do so; she can't _really_ remember that much. She didn't know the woman.

The day before Winter Solstice, Asami tepidly makes her way down to the White Lotus' kitchen. She is angry with her father and part of her wants to say _no cookies this year _to spite him, but she can't bring herself to do it. It's hard to explain, but she feels like if she doesn't make the cookies, she'll lose her mother for good. At midday the kitchen is surprisingly empty and quiet, and she's grateful; she needs some time alone.

The radio is playing and she's mixing the batter for molasses cookies, with plans to make brown sugar frosting while they bake. She likes the crunchy texture the brown sugar provides. She wasn't allowed to serve it at her father's parties because the _sophisticated_ thing to do was to use powered sugar, make a _smooth_ frosting. Better yet, get it catered, only peasants made their own. Too bad. This year she's on her own. If she's feeling really ambitious, she'll put the brown sugar in a pan with butter so it turns into a sweet, sticky glaze. She likes the extra kick of flavor it provides.

She'll make all her favorites, but there will be no orange cookies this year. For one thing, there are no oranges in the South Pole. Even if the White Lotus can afford to import them from the Fire Nation, she can't imagine they would do so. It would be too frivolous; Spirits forbid Korra have anything nice.

She shudders, remembering again that Korra grew up in this awful place. No wonder she's . . . well, the way she is. She'll make sure Korra gets oranges when they go back to Republic City. Real ones, not cookies. Orange cookies are her father's favorite; she doesn't think she's ever going to make those again.

"Hey, `Sami," Bolin says as he joins her in the kitchen. She wonders when he started using a nickname for her. It's not a bad thing – she actually really likes it. It makes her feel special.

"Bolin," she replies. "What's up?"  
He answers her question by dipping a finger in _her precious cookie batter_, smirking when he sees her shocked expression. He licks his finger with taunting slowness, and while she's certain he doesn't mean it to be so _sexual_ her cheeks flush anyway. A bolt of heat blazes over the junction of her legs. She's mortified even though she knows that no one can tell.

"This is really good," Bolin says approvingly, oblivious to her distress. Asami rolls her eyes.

"You're supposed to wait until after I've baked them," she chides. He lunges for the bowl, snaking his arms around her waist when she turns her back to him. "Keep dreaming, bender-boy."  
"Come on," he pleads. "I'm a hungry orphan. Are you really going to refuse an orphan?" he whines, arms squeezing her sides more tightly in his ongoing bowl-acquisition efforts.

"There are plenty of sea prunes in the ice-box," Asami reminds him, looking over her shoulder. She laughs at his horrified and betrayed expression.

"The cruelty of women!" he says with melodramatic woe. "You slay me, Asami Sato."

"You'll live."

"Alas, but I will not! Oh, a heart twice broken! Not since Kor – " He stops short, realizing what he's about to say and who he's about to say it too. "Sorry. Seriously, my feet don't taste very good, so I'm not exactly why I keeping putting them in my mouth," he mumbles, looking at the ground. Asami replaces the bowl on the counter and begins greasing a cookie sheet so she won't have to look at him.

"I didn't realize you felt that way about Korra," she says softly. He shrugs.

"Nah, it's nothing. I had a little crush on her in the beginning, but – Mako is the one she wants, and I'm honestly happy for them. Seeing them kiss was just not my preferred method of attaining that knowledge," he chuckles weakly. "And, um, not to be nosy, but – how are you doing with everything?" He puts a protective hand on her shoulder.

"I'm okay, I just sometimes wonder if it was all a lie. Like with my father. He was going to kill me, Bolin. I just – I don't know. Did he ever really love me? We used to be so close. And now that's gone." Her hands still on the cookie sheet and she feels humiliating tears threatening behind her eyes. "I feel so alone."

He tugs on her shoulder until she turns around, and then he pulls her into a crushing, encompassing hug that makes it hard to breathe (in a good way). She find she likes his bulkiness next to Mako's wiry frame; he feels very solid, very stable, very _there._ He is immovable, he is the stone that holds through the weather while fire burns itself out.

"Well, I'm here, so you have me. And you know Mako does care about you. It's been hard to show, with everything going on with Korra," Bolin sighs. They pull apart but remain close as he starts to help her spoon balls of dough onto the cookie sheet. "Does it make me a terrible person that seeing all that's happened in the last however-long-it's-been, I'm kind of glad Korra didn't want me? Because I have no idea how to deal with this," he confesses. Asami shakes her head.

"It doesn't make you a bad person at all. I don't think any of us know how to deal with it." She puts the first sheet into the oven while Bolin greases a second one. "It's _weird._ I don't understand why she's doing this and why she doesn't stop. She has to know you can't live and not eat." Asami furrows her brow, frowning. What she doesn't say is: sometimes I think Korra doesn't want to live, and this is her way of making that happen.

"Mako deserves a medal," Bolin says.

"Perhaps the Not-as-Big-of-a-Jerk-as-You-Could-Have-Been Award?"

They look up at the sound of Katara's voice to see her laughing while Firelord Zuko scowls. He mumbles something about _you would even after sixty years,_ and this only makes Katara laugh harder.

"Something we can help you with?" Asami asks politely. Katara waves her off.

"Not you. I came to find Bolin. Someone in the village lost a wall to an angry polar bear-dog. It will take far less time and effort to have an earthbender repair it," she says. Bolin straightens up and slaps a hand to his forehead in a salute.

"Yes ma'am Sifu Katara ma'am!" he shouts. "I'll see you later, Asami!" He calls more gently following Katara out. Asami forces a smile and returns to her cookies. After a few minutes she notices that Firelord Zuko hasn't left yet.

"Is there something you need?" she asks, forcing herself to look him in the eye. He fidgets uncomfortably.

"So I heard your father tried to kill you too," he blurts out. He immediately slaps his hand against his face. "Sorry. That didn't come out right. If Katara was still here, she would be scolding me for my "completely and utter lack of tact" right about now," he apologizes. Asami blinks.

"Yeah, well. So my father did try to kill me." She begins plating with renewed vigor. "I think it's a little different from what happened between you and Firelord Ozai. You never liked your father," she snaps, anger making her bold.

"That's not true," he growls, famous temper flaring. "Every child worships his parents. I tried to kill Aang – several times, actually, not to mention a bunch of other people – just because my father told me to," he points out.

Asami winces. One point to Zuko. And none for Asami Sato.

"My father gave me a scar that I would never be able to forget about. So I would never be able to forget about him. I've been betrayed too," he adds, voice softer now. She puts the second sheet into the oven, wondering what she's going to do if she runs out of batter before he's done with her.

"So what does one do when her father's a monster?" Asami asks, working hard to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

"You hope you don't get caught up in legacy, for one," Zuko says, the word hitting her so hard she actually doubles over. She sees his face light up with alarm and forces herself to straighten.

"He thinks I betrayed my mother," she says quietly, gripping the counter. "A firebender killed her." She hates the way her voice trembles. The unspoken question hangs in the air: Well, did you betray her? Zuko is silent for a minute, then he clears his throat in that awkward way of his.

"Aang would say we can't hold groups responsible for the actions of individuals," he says delicately. Asami raises her eyebrows.

"So what do you think?" she challenges, holding her breath in anticipation of the answer. He fidgets.

"Aang was a great Avatar, and he always saw the best in people," he says slowly. "I'm not sure he understood group-think."

She stares, waiting for him to continue.

"Look – after the war ended, a lot of people still hated anyone Fire Nation just for being Fire Nation. Aang though people would lose their prejudices – was naïve," Zuko says, old frustration coming through his voice. "You just have to do what you know is right, even if your mother would feel betray. Just like with your father." His face is pinched with anxiety like he's afraid of saying the wrong thing. Asami bites he lip, mulling his words over. Zuko mutters something under his breath.

"What?"

"Even when there's a new avatar, it's still a rite of passage for everyone to have a field trip with Zuko!"

Okay – she has no idea what he's talking about, so she nods sympathetically.

"You helped," she offers, trying to smile. He returns it.

"Yeah, well, better go find the firebender, can't mess up the process now," he says. She watches him leave, lost in thought until she realizes her cookies are burning.

* * *

**"**_**There is a** primal reassurance in being touched, in knowing that someone else, someone close to you, wants to be touching you. There is a bone-deep security that goes with the brush of a human hand, a silent, reflex-level affirmation that someone is near, that someone cares."_

* * *

Senna looks up at the sound of stomping feet. The source walks through the doorway, looking ready to firebend the first thing she sees. Oh, she knows that look. She became intimately familiar with it during the six months between when Korra discovered she could firebend and when Korra went away with the White Lotus.

Out of the corner of her eye, Senna sees Pema wince next to her. Oh, right; she's probably familiar with that look by now too. So much for a quiet afternoon. Senna was working on a new shirt for Tonraq, but their daughter is distraught so the shirt will have to wait (Senna tries to remember the last time she comforted Korra, and fails).

"Honey?" she asks, staying in her seat because she's afraid to touch her daughter (does Korra like to be touched?). Rightly so, it would seem, based on the way Korra is glaring at her now. She recoils, stomach caving and shoulders hunching.

"What?" Korra snarls, crossing her arms over her chest. The movement is uncoordinated, like she's moving too fast to control her body, her emotions have possessed her. Senna's first instinct is to reprimand Korra's tone of voice, but she feels like she has no right to do so. It's a disturbing feeling; it makes her feel like the girl in front of her isn't her daughter. It makes her wonder if she ever had a daughter at all.

"What's wrong?" Pema asks, jumping in. Korra's shoulders slump.

"I can't get my hair to unknot," she grumbles. "I was just going to cut it all off. I know, don't give me that look, I'm being impulsive again." She rolls her eyes. Spirits, she looks so lost and sad. And fragile. Like she's hardly here. Senna was to grab her, make sure her daughter can't float up and away. She wants to wrap Korra in her arms and kiss her forehead, but she can't. She doesn't think her daughter would stand for it.

Still – she has to try to do _something_.

"Come here. Let's see if I can help," she says, smiling (this takes concerted effort). Korra looks unsure but she comes over, sitting on the floor so her back is against the couch and she's between Senna's legs. She reluctantly surrenders the hairbrush to her mother. This time Senna's smile is genuine and effortless; she can almost believe that her girl is hers.

Senna remembers brushing Korra's hair years ago, back when she was little. It was one of the few things she would hold _still_ for. Korra liked to be touched, she liked to be petted as though after so many years she had incorporated part of Naga into her own self; she was adorably puppyish.

Senna used to sculpt the strands into elaborate braids, weaving in different ribbons until it became clear that this was too impractical for Avatar training and wouldn't be allowed to continue. Korra never learned how to braid her hair because she was too young when the White Lotus took her away for the compound.

Senna remember feeling almost horrified to see her daughter's hair in ponytails, her look so severe, so severed from the braids all the other Water Tribe women favored. She remembers Korra coming back to the village and standing out painfully, utterly friendless.

She was all wrong in her poorly developed social skills, her ignorance of sewing and cooking, those masculine pants and her _damn ponytails_. The other girls still favored dresses and kept to more traditional gender roles. It wasn't that women _couldn't _do what the men did, but Korra was so _completely _divorced from it. Like she wasn't Water Tribe, wasn't daughter or sister or friend. She was other, stranger among her own people. Avatar but not Korra. Not human.

Brushing her hair now, Senna expects it to be easy. Like she'll maybe be able to say _sorry_ and recapture some of those good times, those before-times. Like she can be Korra's mother again, take her little girl back. She feels like she's losing her to some ugly, faceless thing and she sleeps poorly now, afraid of waking up to a world where her daughter is gone forever with her chance for atonement.

Unfortunately, brushing Korra's hair doesn't make things better. Actually, it makes them a whole lot worse. Korra yells and shrieks, telling Senna she's pulling too hard. Then her hair starts coming out in clumps and Senna is left starting at the tangles of brown locks in her hands. Korra notices, of course. Her eyes flash with something Senna can't read and she snatches the hairbrush back. She wants to ask Korra to give her another chance, to tell her what she's done wrong so she can fix it, but she doesn't know how to ask or if she even deserves too.

"Forget it." Korra starts to walk away but Pema jumps up, grabbing her wrist. _Why didn't I do that? _Senna wonders. And then _**can**__ I do that?_. Something makes her think that Korra wouldn't take it that well.

"Come on." Pema's voice is kind but firm (like a mother's should be). Korra gives in and Senna doesn't know what emotion to let herself feel (helplessness? sadness? anger? jealousy? loss?). She watches Pema take a vial of oil out of her pocket, smoothing a few drops over Korra's tangled mane. Only then does she begin to brush, her hand air-light, cautiou – _tender_.

Senna wants to scream _she's mine_ but the words stick in her throat with their un-truth. She watches Korra relax against Pema's thigh, looking calm and far less agitated than usual. It's not fair, Senna thinks. Every time she turns around her daughter has gone farther than before, disappearing into a snowstorm. She wants to scream out for her and beg her to come back, but she's starting to doubt that she's ever really what's best for Korra. She wanted to be; does that count for anything?

"Why does this work so much better when you do it?" Korra asks Pema with a disgruntled sigh. Pema laughs.

"Because I'm the mother of daughters," she explains.

Senna will never, _ever_ experience anything so painful.

* * *

Mako can't decide how he feels about training in the South Pole. On the one hand, the sun is intense, letting him draw on its strength. On the other hand, it's damn cold and he hates the cold. Bolin can attest to this. There have been maybe times when they're been forced to share a bed, and even Mako will admit that he's a cover hog-monkey. Bolin finally started to insist on having his own blankets, because when they tried to share Mako stole them all. Unfortunately, this request was denied more often then it was granted.

In response, Mako started wrapping himself around his little brother, basking in his magnificent body heat. Bolin complained. Mako kicked him. That was that. It earned them some weird looks, but Bolin didn't notice and Mako didn't care. All that mattered was that beautiful, wonderful _heat_.

They had separate beds in the loft, and there was never a question as to whose was whose. Mako's bed was piled with blankets, held onto longer after they began to tear or fray. He slept closest to the radiator, and kept hot water bottles nearby. After the first snowfall, he determinedly acquired some metal boxes.

Bolin watched curiously as Mako installed them under his bed, cursing and grunting as he fumbled with the tools. He didn't understand what his brother was doing until later that night, when Mako scooped hot coals into the boxes. Bolin just shook his head at him. Spicy food, pure lightening, thick furs and pelts – Mako has never met a heat source he didn't like. Earlier in the fall, Bolin even told Asami she should get him a fur coat for Winter Solstice.

Standing outside now, Mako can feel the wind bite through his sweat clothes. He considers going inside, but something stops him. Well, not something, he knows what it is. He's avoiding Korra (in the back of his head he acknowledge that this is not, perhaps, the best start to an already-unsteady relationship). He's afraid to know what Zuko said to her. He's afraid to know what Korra is thinking, and what she's going to do.

He's even afraid of Korra's parents. Not so much because he thinks they don't approve of him or anything like that, but because he's become aware in the last few days that he knows Korra better than they do, and it's killing them. They want to know what's wrong with their daughter, what they can do to fix it, where they went wrong.

The problem is, Mako doesn't have these answers. And to be perfectly honest, he's more interested in ripping them a new one for abandoning their daughter to the White Lotus than he is in having a civilized conversation. He throws a few kicks, satisfied by the way the ice gives beneath the heat.

"You're talented."

Firelord Zuko is leaning against the side of the White Lotus compound, smoke wafting from his nostrils. Mako rubs his arms, partly because he's self-conscious and partly because every time he stops moving, the cold wraps its icy fingers around him. It's as though the cold senses his little escapes and wishes to punish him for them, show him who is _really_ powerful and _really_ in charge. He briefly wonders if Korra can do anything about that, being the spirit-of-the-planet-in-human-form and all.

"Thanks, I'm really not, though," he mumbles. He stomps his feet, trying to get the blood circulating again. Is he manipulative enough to tell Senna and Tonraq he'll talk to them about Korra, but only if they provide him with a fur coat and fur boots and gloves? He rubs the back of his neck, which is uncomfortably bare. He left his scarf in Kor – _the_ room because he was afraid of it getting damaged. He would never forgive himself. Mako sighs. Yes, just he would never forgive himself if he messed with Senna and Tonraq like that. Well, maybe Asami was in a generous mood and he could still try to get that Winter Solstice present out of her.

"You are that good. I would know," Zuko huffs. He is not trying to argue, Mako can tell; he's merely starting a fact. Sure, there's a hint of arrogance in his voice, but Mako knows it's just the arrogance of birthright. The rich and important never lose it; they are taught that they're more important than everyone else and as a result they can't even recognize their own condescension. "Who did you train with?"

"I didn't," he replies. His firebending developed on an as-needed basis. Zuko cocks his head, looking thoughtful.

"Show me something," he instructs. Mako almost protests (_what in Agni's name does he mean by that?)_ but he swallows his words down and nods instead.

He starts with a series of fire-fists, focusing on small, concentrated flames. After a few of those he flows into kicks, starting with roundhouse and slowly throwing in a few front and side kicks. Taking a deep breath, he jumps up and executes a butterfly kick, body turning in the air as he strikes with one leg and then the other. Back to punches. Cross-jab. Uppercut. Keep your arms close to your sides, close to your head – it gives you protection and power. Now clear your clear and narrow your focus. Dig your heals in to maintain your stance. Find your power.

Since it's a demonstration, Mako spreads his arms so that one is in front of him and the other behind. It doesn't do much but it looks elegant. Mako guides the lightening out his fingertips, watching as the blue tendrils cackle into the snow and sky. He holds the arc for ten seconds, then lets his arms drop to his knees, exhausted.

It's rather humiliating; he doesn't want to look weak in front of the Firelord. He can't help it, though. He's _tired_ after hours of firebending. Mako is startled by the sounds of clapping and whistling. Zuko's eyes are bright, his face lit up like Bolin's was the first time he saw fireworks.

"You should be training with a master," Zuko informs him, walking over. Mako shrugs, biting back a retort about where he's going to get the money to do such a thing. Besides, even if he did have the money he can't be away from Bolin or Korra for any length of time. Bolin needs someone to support him and keep him out of trouble; Korra needs someone to temper her morbid curiosity.

The thing about Korra that worries him most, actually, is her curiosity – not her temper or her impatience or impulsivity, although those all have their parts. What makes Mako worry is this image: the one of Korra alone in her room, her darkness and depression weighing on her like she's been buried alive. He sees he getting up from her bed, finding a knife. He sees her slitting her wrists, not because she really _wants_ to die so much as a desire to see what's going to happen. She wants to know if this will make her feel lighter, if she's found the secret way to quiet the noise constantly reverberating in her head.

"Maybe someday," Mako says, avoiding the Firelord's question. "I'm going to go inside, um, if you don't mind. It's cold out here." He heaves a breath of fire. It helps a little.

"Right. I am serious about the training, though. You could have quite a future," Zuko continues as they walk. Mako shakes his head, hoping he can refuse the Firelord in a way that doesn't get him sent to prison.

"I can't. I have obligations in Republic City," he says, staring straight ahead. Zuko hums in consideration.

"Well, I'll see what I can arrange," he mutters. Mako would like to ask him what, exactly, that's supposed to mean, but then decides he might not want to know. If he's going to disagree with Zuko, he's going to take it one disagreement at a time.

"Zuko!" Katara's voice rings out and within seconds she's joined him and Mako, her cheeks flushed bright pink. He sees Zuko staring and tucks the information away for later analysis.

"You seem to have lost the earthbender," Zuko points out. Katara rolls her eyes.

"He's still in the village, enjoying their attentions," she replies. "Fixing someone's house is an excellent way to ingratiate yourself. You might consider taking notes." She pokes his chest and Zuko launches into his predictable sputtering. Mako can see Katara smirking, and he can't tell if teases him because she dislikes him or she likes him a little too much. There's a joke about sex with the Firelord somewhere in there, but he can't quite figure out what it is.

Back in the compound, Mako excuses himself to wash. Oh, the joy that is clean, soapy hot water. Hot water that _smells_ good even. It's almost a shame, because he's not sure he'll ever be able to go back to life before all this. Mako likes to think that he's tough, or at least tough enough to slum it – but Spirits, a little luxury goes a long way. Well, maybe if the pro-bending arena re-opens, he and Bolin can start working again and make enough money to actually be okay. There are people who do that, after all. He and Bolin were rookies this season, but next season everyone will know their names. And that's worth something.

Mako is finally starting to hope that maybe, just maybe, he can secure Bolin's future. They've spent most of their lives living paycheck-to-paycheck, but lately things have been better. Pro-bending has treated them well. Granted, making friends with people in high places has been equally important. Mako would never, _ever_ use anyone for their money or connections – but he can't deny the perks.

Korra being the Avatar generates favors and attention. Asami has so much money she could use yuans as toilet paper. Tenzin is on the city council. Lin Beifong is the former chief of police and still holds a lot of sway in the city. Legal troubles? Money troubles? Yeah, he doesn't really have to worry about that anymore. Which kind of makes him worry because he doesn't want to get too comfortable.

Leaning his head against the side of the bath, he ponders Zuko's earlier words about serious firebending training. He still thinks taking care of Bolin and paying for lessons are problems, but they're not the only ones. Mako himself is the problem; he is standing in his own way.

Because he knows that someone would give him the money, and he knows someone would look after Bolin (in his head, he can hear Bolin protesting that he _does not need to be looked after_). Mako just can't imagine being so selfish as to do something just for himself. He's responsible. He's thoughtful. He puts others first, he takes care of them – could he really do something just because he wanted to? It seems so . . . _weird_.

Korra would understand, he thinks. Korra does almost nothing as herself; it's all about "the Avatar". Her every word, her every action – all of it is about her position, her birth-curse, her _charge. _Maybe Koh stole her face when she was too little to realize what was happening, so now she is nothing but a shell, with no self beneath her hair and skin.

* * *

_**If you try** to see yourself through the lens that others offer you, all you will see are distortions; your own light and beauty will become blurred, awkward, and ugly. Your sense of inner beauty has to remain a very private thing_.

* * *

The first thing Korra does when she gets back to her room is throw more wood on the fire. The flames cackle and spark, hungry and eager for the new fuel. She's fascinated watching them; she likes the heat and colors, even the smell of smoke. Fire says _home_ to her, fire is being in her room safe and sound where no one can get her.

Korra can't recall much of her life from before the White Lotus, but she does have hazy memories of fire. She remembers sitting in her parents' house watching the flames dance and spar, her mother making something to eat or her father skinning a hide.

Fire was warmth after playing in the snow, life in a place where people stopped looking for you if you were missing for more than three hours. Most importantly, perhaps, fire was other people. It was ghost stories with the older kids, or her mother braiding her hair while whispering _this, small-girl, is the story of how your father and I met. _Fire was something bright in the dark to chase away her nightmares.

Korra has _always_ had nightmares.

Her parents have told her about how even as a baby she would wake up screaming, terrified of some unseen enemy. She would claw the darkness, huddle into her father's side for protection. Her crib and child-bed are in perfect condition because she only slept in them a handful of times each. She would abandon them in the middle of the night to crawl into her parents' bed and catch her breath.

The first night she was at the White Lotus compound, she woke up screaming (as usual) and went running through the halls sobbing, begging someone to _help her _to _save her _because there were _monsters _who were coming to _get her_. The sentries took her words a little too seriously; in response to her wailing, they tore into her room and nearly destroyed the place. The guardians were not happy, to say the least. _You are not to bother the sentries unless there is a __**real**__ threat, _they instructed at breakfast the next morning. Korra nodded petulantly, her eyes narrow and arms crossed.

The next time she had nightmare was three days later. Remembering the guardians' words, this time she went to find Master Katara. Unfortunately she got lost and apparently threw the entire place into panic. One of the sentries found her crying outside the pantry three hours after dawn. Her eyes were bloodshot, her body convulsing as she whispered over and over _don't let them get me don't let them get me oh please oh please I'm begging you don't let them get me_.

Korra found herself subjected to another talk about worrying people unnecessarily. In addition, the guardians forbade her from leaving her room at night. She was not to go out for anyone, or anything. Korra threw an age-appropriate temper tantrum. The guardians suggested she meditate to get over her nightmares. To this day, Korra can't understand who thought a _four year old_ would understand the idea of _meditating_.

This time around, she made it four days before another one struck. As usual she bolted out of her bed, limbs flaying, eyes wide. She grabbed the doorknob, pulling it hard and falling backwards when it didn't give. She remembers her shock, and her panic. She remembers throwing herself against the door all night, howling desperately for help. And then she remembers the morning, when the guardians came for her and found her passed out on the floor, covered head to foot in dark bruises. They didn't stop locking her bedroom door. She learned that weakness is unacceptable.

_The Avatar is not afraid of anything_.

The first time she went back to the village, people looked at her differently. She wore new clothes, and she wore her hair in ponytails instead of braids. She was flanked by White Lotus sentries who did not laugh or smile, and pointed their spears at anyone who got too close. Some kids invited her to play a game with a ball. She was actually happy for a few minutes until she realized that the other children were _letting _her win.

No one tried to kick the ball from her feet, no one tried to defend his goal. Practiced lines of _Wow Korra, you're talented _and _Wow Korra, you're strong_ fell like hailstones from their lips. So she threw a fit that sent snowballs flying in every direction and didn't apologize because she was so _angry_. Mothers scolded their children for being mean to her (even all these years later, Korra cringes at the memory). She doesn't want their pity or their awe.

Later that day, the girl next door invited her to play dolls. Korra spent ten minutes stuttering and stalling as she tried to figure out if this girl really wanted to be her friend or if her mother was making her. Korra remembers crossing her fingers and saying a little prayer to Yue for things to please,please work out when the girl finally wins her over, convincing her that yes, they should play.

Korra joins her and the girl's sister then realizes too late she doesn't know how to play. The girls give her funny looks when she holds up the doll like she's never seen one before. Korra was looking for a turn-key, something that would tell her how the doll worked. Failing to find one, she didn't know what to do with it. The little girls were kind enough not to laugh but too young to hide their confusion. They think she's weird.

Korra doesn't try to make any friends after that. It's clear she's too different, she's too unlike them. The last day of her first visit, someone hissed something she's never forgotten as the guards saddled up to ride back to the compound.

_She's the Avatar. She's not human_.

They're right, of course. She isn't human. She can bend all four elements. She can access the Spirit World, her past lives, the Avatar State. She can restore people's bending – she is the most powerful creature in the world. Human? Not really. It's kind of funny, in a way, that she never even tries to fool anyone. As if she could. Others detect the trespasser too quickly. They know she is not-one-of-us.

The night she left for Republic City, she went back to the village to say goodbye to her parents. Her mother said, _We love you so much_. Korra didn't have a response to that. She wanted to ask her, _what does that mean? What is love? How do you love me?_ She wanted to push her mother away, to tell her she was a horrible parent and she hated her.

Simultaneously she wanted to burrow into her mother's side, to cry into her dress and feel her arm come down on her back like a shield. In that moment she almost wanted her mother to stop her – to say _no, we've been deprived of our daughter long enough_. She didn't of course; Senna and Tonraq always were a little too good at letting go.

Korra remembers telling her parents _I'll miss you_. But as she rode away on Naga, she had no idea what that meant. She would miss them? How could she? She didn't even _know_ them. She was a girl who got locked in her bedroom for having nightmares. She was a girl who didn't know how to flirt, how to put on makeup, how to braid her hair because she was motherless. She never went out hunting or fishing with her father, never helped him skin a tiger-moose, never even helped her parents cook a meal. Miss them? Well, perhaps the idea of them. After all, leaving meant she was giving up; "pursuing her airbending" was just a good cover story.

Standing in her room, Korra flexes her fingers, observing the way her chapped skin cracks open and turns bloody. The red rivulets run down her hand in cascading spider webs. The right thing to do would be to heal it, or to at least bandage the injuries. She does neither of these things. Instead of she sits down next to the fire, watching the blood turn brown in the exposure.

She finds herself nursing a desire to stick her hand in the blaze. Sure, it would hurt, but that's not why she wants to do it; it's that she wants to find out just what would happen if she did it. It's a kind of morbid curiosity. She wants to test her limits, to find the boundaries, the places marked with DO NOT ENTER signs.

When Korra thinks about her life and her world, she thinks _cage_. She thinks about the White Lotus sentries who locked her in the compound and her bedroom. She thinks about Tenzin trying to confine her to Air Temple Island. She even thinks about her birth-curse, about being the Avatar, about being locked into this destiny she didn't want and didn't ask for just because she was born under the wrong stars.

Perhaps what she thinks most about, however, is losing her bending. She thinks about her body's failures, about everydamnfeeling percolating inside of her with nowhere to go. There is nothing; she is disconnected. This body is a prison she cannot escape.

She needs to know what's underneath it all. She needs to carve away the excess, to get at the so-called self. The truth is, she's really not that good of an Avatar, so if she's going to keep living, she better come up with a damn good reason pretty fucking fast.

Korra sits in front of the mirror, pinching the skin**fat** on her wrists. She pulls at her face, noting the thickness of the flesh, the places where it _jiggles_. She cups her breasts then smashes them against her chest, ashamed to be _so much_. Perhaps she could find a knife, hack them off like she's seen Pema cut the fat from slabs of meat. She takes up too much space in the world; she must reduce. Yes, that's the key. Be less. Want less. Get down to bone, down to the small, down to the essential. Stop being impulsive. Stop fucking up. Stop bothering everybody.

Her friends and family will be mad when they find out about her little project, she knows. Because eventually, they will find out. But she can't stop. She _won't _stop. Not when she needs this. Not when it is promising her cool sleep and seductive truth and oh spirits above _stability_ and _a self. _Besides, she won't let it get out of hand this time. She'll keep her fingers around the beast's neck. A little puking and starvation isn't such a big deal. She's the Avatar. She'll be _fine_.

* * *

One of these days, Pema is going to gather all the council members excepting her husband, and threaten them until they agree not to send Tenzin any kind of information whatsoever when he is out of the city. Pema is tired of his worrying, tired of him locking himself away to attend to business, and above all, she's tired of his panic attacks.

"PEMA!"

He's calling her again. Pema loves her husband, and most of the time his passion and dedication inspires her. Tenzin is calm in the face of chaos, the last one to abandon ship. He's cool and level-headed when danger actually strikes – it's the false alarms that drive everyone around him crazy. So when she hears him shouting her name, Pema has to take a few minutes to think about whether she's going to answer, or just sneak away until he gets bored or finds someone else to bother.

"Pema! There you are, oh thank goodness!"

Or he'll find her first. That could happen too.

"Hi, Tenzin," she says, forcing a smile. She wonders if she should tell him now that if he says one more word about the stock market he'll find himself sharing a bed with Naga and Oogi. And she'll be keeping all the blankets for herself, thankyouverymuch.

"We have to get back to Republic City right away," he informs her without preamble. Pema blinks. Anxious as Tenzin is, he usually sticks to lamenting about the city's woes without insisting he has to return. Actually, she's not sure she's ever heard him be so resolute about going back. It makes her uneasy.

"What's wrong?" Pema asks, following Tenzin as he starts walking back to their room. He moves so quickly she has to take two steps for his every one. It's a good thing she's not pregnant anymore, or her feet would be on fire.

"The Republic City Bender Power Plant fire. The death toll is sixty-three and rising," Tenzin says softly, his face ashen. Pema chokes on a breath. _No._ She knows that factory. Children as young as eleven work there. In another life her Jinora could have been one them . . .

Pema thinks she might pass out.

"That's terrible," she whispers, allowing Tenzin to embrace her. Her body shakes as silent tears fall down her face and neck, dripping onto Tenzin's shirt. He strokes her hair, making comforting cooing sounds.

"It is. It's awful. That's why we have to get back. There are already people calling for new regulations and laws. And who could blame them?" he asks, more to himself than Pema.

He heaves a great sigh, and she is once again aware of the heaviness he carries, the weight of being Aang's son/the Avatar's son/the Avatar's mentor/the only Airbending Master/the man who must repopulate the airbending population/save the Air Nomad culture/carry on his father's legacy/be the son of grandmaster Katara.

No wonder Tenzin is so serious; who wouldn't be? It's amazing he ever smiles at all. It's amazing he didn't petition for a harem so as to better bring up the population.

"What are we going to do about Korra?" Pema asks, eyebrows knitting together in concern. Another weighed exhale. Oh dear. Maybe this was the wrong time. Maybe that was the wrong question to ask. She almost feels guilty for thinking of her first, but only almost.

She already knows the fates of her own children – Rohan, Meelo, Ikki and Jinora will all return with her and Tenzin. She knows the fate of her three most recently adopted children – Asami needs to attend to her father's financial and legal issues, or at the very least hire someone else to do so. Bolin and Mako have a life there, and honestly she can't imagine them staying in the South Pole willingly. The village is cute, but it's not Republic City. There are no bar or clubs or restaurants, all the things you desire when you're young and believe in all possibilities, all refractions of a mutable self.

"We can't leave her here," Tenzin replies, staring at his feet. She takes his hands in hers, squeezing gently. He looks up, then moves to rest his chin on her crown of her head. She can feel him smelling her hair. It's combed with daisy oil, because even though he would never admit to preferring such a childish scent, Pema knows that daisies are Tenzin's favorite. When they married, Pema carried a bouquet of yellow daisies, and a wreath of white ones with a delicate lace veil.

"We certainly can't," she agrees. "It wouldn't be good for her, being locked up like this." She shudders thinking of the self-destruction Korra will get up to left to her own devices. Maybe it will be an accident, something that happens because she's too busy doing and not _thinking_, but it could just as easily be premeditated, intentional. Either way she'll do it, you can put money on that. Not that Pema gambles. Well, not lately, anyway, though there were a few times in her youth when she put a couple yuans on an ostrich-horse race just to try her luck.

"Okay, so Korra comes with us back to Republic City," Tenzin says. "But she needs to have limits. She can't run around hurting herself," he insists. He sounds angry, but Pema knows he's just scared and worried. Tenzin likes to feel in control, and Korra is the antithesis of control. Tenzin is loving and protective, careful with everyone and Korra lacks any sense of self-preservation.

"Well, I think she's trying," Pema says. Tenzin doesn't look convinced. He wants to believe her, but his eyes are guarded. "I know that Mako found her making herself sick earlier in the week, but I think it really was an accident – a mistake, if you will. These things – well, I don't know much about these things, but I can't imagine they get better overnight." She wraps her arms around him again, trying to draw some of his strength, his solidness into her own self. With her head against the endless expanse of his chest, she can hear his heartbeat.

"Here's my solution: she eats, she keeps her food down, or we send her back here," Tenzin huffs. Pema gives him a scathing look as she pulls away and he immediately starts backpedaling. "Or we could do whatever you think is best. That could work too." He smiles and gives her his best please-don't-hurt-me look.

"We can't do that. It will be just as bad as if we left her here now," Pema argues. She rubs her eyes with the heels of her hands, trying to think. It's such a unique problem; she isn't sure how to address something she's never heard of. "Maybe we could send her to the Republic City Mental Health Center. Or the Fire Nation Mental Health Center. We can't send her back here, Tenzin, we'd be sending her to her death," Pema pleads.

She's startled by the very real fear and anxiety she feels surging through her veins. Until maybe this moment, she had never really considered that Korra could die from this. Now it's all she can think about. Korra _could _die. Korra could starve herself to death. Korra could starve herself to death among all these loved ones, all these _loving_ ones, starve surrounded by food.

"You're right," Tenzin agrees. "I suppose we'll have to ask the sentries to watch her so she can't throw up or skip meals when we're not around," he continues. Pema makes a face.

"She'll lose them in three seconds or less," she points out. Tenzin grimaces like he has a headache coming on. "She's smart."

"That she is," he concurs, a smile ghosting over his lips. "Her friends will look out for her, but that's not an appropriate responsibility for a teenager." He starts pacing, turning tiny circles in the hallway. She doesn't mind; he has gone into Councilman-analytical mode, ruminating on the problem. This is good; Pema needs that Tenzin right now. He solves problems. "We can't just watch her body?" he muses aloud. She shakes her head.

"Her clothes are so thick, she could lose twenty pounds before anyone noticed," she says. Thinking of Korra twenty pounds lighter makes Pema feels like someone has just pulled her from a bath to throw her into the snow.

"I don't suppose she would take well to stripping down for you," Tenzin mutters. Pema laughs, clutching her stomach. "Yes. Thought not."

"Wait, we could just weigh her – how did we not think of that before?" Pema gasps. The doctors weighed her during her pregnancy to make sure she was gaining enough weight; why can't they weigh Korra to make sure she's staying the right weight? Tenzin's smile is so big and bright it could outshine the sun.

"We'll talk to my mother about it, I'm sure she knows something about what one should weight," he says excitedly. Pema beams, tempted to jump up and down like Ikki does when she's excited about something.

"Yes. And based on what she says we'll give Korra weight she has to maintain. If she gets too skinny and doesn't bring it back up in a reasonable time, then we'll do something," Pema says firmly. Tenzin nods, looking relieved. He suddenly pulls Pema into a kiss, making her melt against him and moan softly. Oh, he is her _home_.

"Thank the Spirits," he says when they pull away. "My love, you make me better than I am." He presses his lips to her forehead, drowning her in waves of warmth and affection.

"You too," she murmurs. This is how Pema knew Tenzin was The One, Lin Beifong or not. When she is with him, she glows and she unfurls so to bloom into her best self.

* * *

When Tenzin says _there was a fire at the power plant _Korra decides she doesn't care about the rest of the sentence and flees to her room. Mako is sitting on the bed drying his hair, and for a moment she can only stare at him. She lingers in the doorway, overwhelmed by his realness, his presence, the fact that he is _hers _and he is _alive_. Mako opens his mouth when he notices her in the doorway, but shuts it when she sprints across the room and launches herself onto him. He falls back so they are sprawled on the bed in a tangle of limbs and skin.

"Korra?"

She ignores him, pulling off his scarf (it smells like him, because he has a smell, because he is **alive**) and undoing the buttons of his jacket. His breath hitches and she can see his Adam's apple bob nervously.

"What - ?"

She doesn't even kiss him before latching onto his neck. He squirms under her, and she can tell he's still confused but at the same time he knows when he's defeated. Korra pulls her lips back ever so slightly, letting her teeth inch forward. Then she bites him hard, sucking so he gasps and writhes, one hand tight in her hair like he can't decide whether to pull her off or press her closer. After a few seconds she finally lets go, sitting up to look at her handiwork.

There is a red-purple mark on the place where his neck and shoulder meets, bright with the blood rushing to the injury. She prances her fingertips over it, pressing down just to watch him hiss. _Real_, she thinks. Real and hers.

"What was that all about?" Mako asks, his hand brushing over hers. He kisses her fingers, nibbling on the tips.

_I wanted to hurt you_, she thinks without speaking. _I wanted you to move. I wanted you to yell. I wanted you to bleed so I would know you were engaged and alive_. She shrugs. His eyes narrow.

"Just wanted to."

"Did you do something I wouldn't approve of?" he asks, voice caught between anger and concern. She shakes her head even as fury surges through her body. Right then. She forgot that everything is always about Korra's eating problem.

_See me_, she thinks, leaning over him again and brushing his hair back. _See __**my**__**body**__. See __**Korra.**__ Find my bones. Find my real. Find what is not the Avatar soul. Follow me down this path – follow me to the underneath. I will show you how real I am._

* * *

_**I can feel** Peeta press his forehead into my temple and he asks,  
_

_"So now that you've got me, what are you going to do with me?"  
_

_I turn into him. "Put you somewhere you can't get hurt." _

* * *

"_**Ally." Peeta says** the words slowly, tasting it. "Friend. Lover. Victor. Enemy. Fiancee. Target. Mutt. Neighbor. Hunter. Tribute. Ally. I'll add it to the list of words I use to try to figure you out. The problem is, I can't tell what's real anymore, and what's made up." _

* * *

Quotes:

1. Wasted by Marya Hornbacher  
2. White Night by Jim Butcher  
3. Anam Cara by John O'Donohue  
4. The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins  
5. Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins


End file.
